


wayward souls: allies

by jaded_envy, Sleepmarshes, Thefishywitch



Series: wayward souls [2]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dreamworld Suicide, Language, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychologically Distressing Situations, Supernatural Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-05 13:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 102,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13388790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaded_envy/pseuds/jaded_envy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepmarshes/pseuds/Sleepmarshes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thefishywitch/pseuds/Thefishywitch
Summary: ACT TWO: Sought by both Medusa and Arachne, Soul and Maka are in dire straits. Soul struggles with his dangerous, unstable powers and his rapidly shortening lifespan. Faced with the prospect of losing her partner, Maka begins to question the life she leads. More than ever, they'll need the help of allies, both human and otherwise, to save Wes, and each other.  [Supernatural Series AU]





	1. the werewolf

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the second part of my piece for Resbang 2017!
> 
> This was my first resbang, and I had an absolute blast. I had the great fortune to be paired up with two wonderful people and amazing artists, [thefishywitch](https://thefishywitchy.tumblr.com/) and [marshofsleep](http://marshofsleep.tumblr.com/), both of whom helped me out immensely with suggestions, and overall enthusiasm! Please check out their art ([thefishywitch](https://thefishywitchy.tumblr.com/post/169749285486/thefishywitchy-wayward-souls-a-supernatural-au), [marshofsleep](http://marshofsleep.tumblr.com/post/169740931439/wayward-souls-parts-1-2-links-forthcoming-by)), and I highly recommend listening to [ marshofsleep's playlist ](http://marshofsleep.tumblr.com/post/169740947059/the-noise-in-the-night-is-gonna-get-a-little)\- she captured the essence of this fic perfectly.
> 
> I also was blessed with beautiful betas who truly helped me whip this monstrosity into shape, even though they were all busy with their own fics - thank you [redphlox](http://redphlox.tumblr.com/), [sillytwinstars](http://silly-twin-stars.tumblr.com/), [khaleesimaka](http://khaleesimaka.tumblr.com/) and marshofsleep!
> 
> This will be posted in three parts, two of which (Pacts, Allies) will be posted today and the last of which I will continue working on. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

It's gotten colder in the month and a half since Soul's world had been turned upside down while his chest got sliced open. He shivers, hunching further into his winter jacket as he gets out of the car. Maka eyes him as she unscrews the gas cap to the jeep, and he rolls his eyes. "Just chilly," he grumbles. "Stein gave me the clean bill of health, I'm _fine_."

She sighs. "Fine, whatever. Go get us some snacks, would you?"

It's at least warm in the tiny gas station, and Soul shucks his hat, running a hand through his hair. He gives the attendant a nod and a mumbled " 'Lo" before bending down to peruse the items below the counter.

He picks up a bag of chips and a packet of Twizzlers, grabs couple of Slim Jims for Maka and actual beef jerky for him, and finishes it off with some sunflower seeds. "Just these," he tells the woman, digging into his jeans for his wallet.

There's no responding price named, and Soul looks up to find the woman staring at him. "Um," he says politely. "How much will that be?"

She frowns at him, eyes narrowing, and for a minute he's afraid that she's recognized him somehow, aged him up from his missing posters, or mistaken him from Wes. He gives her a smile, trying to play it cool. "Sorry, is there something -"

The woman visibly shudders, taking a step back. Over her shoulder, Soul can see himself reflected in the glass between the counter and the back room - white hair, demonic red eyes, sharp, shark-like teeth -

"Leave," the attendant says firmly, though she doesn't move any closer. "We don't - we don't serve people like you here."

"W…what do you -"

" _Freaks_ ," she emphasizes, crossing her arms. "This is a _Christian_ town. There's no place for you…you devil worshippers or whatever kind of thing you think you are."

"I - I'm _not_ ," he begins, but the taste of smoke and brimstone burns in his throat, his own maniacal laughter echoing in his ears -

The smallest snicker slips from under the black door in his mind, and he aims a vicious mental kick at it.

"I'm just - this is a condition," he lies, holding his hands up. "I'm, um, albino -"

"Albinos don't have those kind of teeth," she sneers, and snatches his snacks from the counter. "I'm gonna give you one last chance - _leave_ before I call the cops."

Bitter wind assaults him as he steps back out into the cold. He keeps his head down and walks quickly to the jeep, refusing to look at anything but the cracked asphalt. The car door slams behind him, and he hunches over the heating vents, trying to focus on the buffeting of the air on his face instead of the squeezing pain in his chest.

Cold blows in again and the jeep's frame sighs as Maka gets in. "What happened?" she asks immediately, craning her neck to try and look him in the face.

"N…nothing," he says. He turns away, only to be met with another reflection in the window, and jerks his head sharply back around to stare at the dashboard.

"Soul…"

"I just - not right now, okay?" he bites out, clenching his fists, desperately trying to block out the sound of shushing blood, the feeling of Medusa's tongue against his teeth -

"I'm not -" he finds himself mumbling, fingers pressing into his thighs, "I can't…everyone can tell, now, can't they, like Liz 'n Patty - my hair, my eyes, my _teeth_ , they're -"

"Still working, so who cares?" she says harshly.

"They're fucking _terrifying_ , Maka!" he snaps. "Don't even try to say otherwise, I know what I look like - I've seen myself in the mirror! I look like a - like a monster, and, and worse I-“

He forces himself to break off, but his mind finishes the rest of his sentence for him – _I think I’m becoming one too._

"Did someone say something to you in there?" Maka demands, already half rising out of the driver's seat, and Soul rushes to pull her back down.

"Don't," he says firmly. "It's not worth it. We can just - we'll just get snacks from a convenience store, they've got a better selection anyway."

She glares at him as if he's in the wrong for stopping her from beating up some minimum wage worker, chin raised and stubborn frown on her face. " _No_ , Maka," he repeats, and she holds her gaze for a minute longer before sighing and settling back into the seat.

"Fine," she grumbles. "This place is shit anyway." She cuts a glance over at him, saying, "They probably were just jealous of your good looks, you know, not your - extra stuff."

"That's not -" He pauses, words catching up to him. "Wait, you think -"

"There's a Kwik Mart in Neosho," she interrupts. "We'll make a quick stop, then keep going," and the engine rumbles as she starts the car.

This time, Soul insists on Maka going in to get snacks alone, and she does so with minimal complaining. He leans his face against the window, glass cold under his cheek, and stares at himself. Blood red irises flicker down his face, and he peels back a lip to scrutinize the jagged edges to his teeth.

He breathes over his reflection, letting the condensation cloud over and blur his features. He uses the tip of his finger to draw in two dots and a zigzag underneath them, then immediately rubs it away, feeling like a child.

He startles when he hears the trunk open, turning, but it closes again and Maka slides into the driver's seat. "Here," she says, tossing something at him.

"What's this?" he asks, squinting suspiciously at the package wrapped shoddily in newspaper. "Thought I asked for chips."

She rolls her eyes. "Just open it."

He does so cautiously, careful of his fingers in case it's a blade or something equally dangerous. Nestled inside the newsprint is a simple wooden pendant, symbols burned into it. "What…is it?" he asks, letting it dangle in his hands. He recognizes some of them - a pentagram, an ankh, the eye of Horus, and, on the backside, his own personal gremlin doodle.

"A protective amulet," she replies. "It's supposed to stop demons from tracking you. Tsubaki told me about it, Papa helped me with making it."

"It…kind of looks like a kindergartener made it."

She swats his arm. "Asshole. Just wear it, okay?"

Soul slips the amulet over his neck. It settles over his chest. "Thanks," he says, fiddling with it. "But uh…why wrap it? Why not just give it to me?"

"It's a present. Duh." At his blank look, she says, slowly, "Because…it's your birthday? November 25th?"

God, was it really November already? It felt like just a few weeks ago he was waking up at Spirit's and Stein's, only a month since the caves and the arachne…only a few more since the crossroads…

He automatically accepts the steaming coffee Maka offers him, and she pushes a slightly smushed cupcake wrapped in clingwrap into his other hand. "Birthday cake," she says, giving him a smile. "No candles though, sorry."

" 'S okay." He takes a bite, and does his best not to show his grimace at its stale, too sweet taste. The coffee burns his tongue as he takes a swig of it, but he relishes the pain and the subsequent numbness, trying not to focus on the fact that this may be the last birthday he ever has -

"Happy twenty-second," Maka says, and if she understands the significance of this one in particular, she doesn't show it.

"Thanks," he mutters.

She crumples up her plastic wrap, careful to catch all the crumbs, and tosses it back into the shopping bag. "Okay, so now so what do we have?"

Grateful for the distraction, he sets his food and drink down, and pulls out a scrap of paper. "Spirit got a tip off from some hunter that was passing through Eaton, Ohio, a week or so ago. Heard some rumors of one of the librarians in town had been acting strange, things like assaulting people and muttering to himself. Doesn't seem to remember any of it afterwards, either."

Maka looks at him. "That's it? Just some man who might be developing dementia?"

Soul shakes his head. "He's only in his thirties. And look -" He taps on his looping script. "Weird weather going on there. Unusual amount of electrical storms in the area, especially considering it's November. Could be demonic activity."

"So a possible schizophrenic and climate change."

"Yeeeeeah, I know, not a lot to go on. But hey, we wanted a demon job as soon as we could get one, so…" He shrugs.

Maka sighs. "Let's just get this over with." She reaches for the keys in the ignition, but pauses, and cuts a glance at him. "If…if you're okay with that?"

He rolls his eyes. "You don't have to keep asking me." He bumps her with his elbow. "We made a promise, remember? I'll tell you if I have a problem with what we're doing."

"I know," she says, fiddling with her cup. "I just…I just want to make sure. That you didn't want to do something different."

"Maka." He places a hand on her arm, waiting until she turns to look at him. "I'll go wherever you go," he says, serious. "Promise."

She rewards him with a smile. "Likewise," she says quietly, and starts the car.

* * *

Maka scrutinizes the stacks by the light of her flashlight. Her fingers brush reverently against the book spines, and she breathes in the scent of old pages. " _Stuff Matters: Exploring the Marvelous Materials That Shape Our Man-Made World_ ," she mutters, picking it up.

"Hey." She flinches as Soul cuts his flashlight to her. "Are you - what are you doing."

She jumps. "N-nothing."

"What. Are you doing." The beam of light gets closer as Soul approaches her.

"H-how are the preparations going, did you get the traps drawn?" she asks, desperately trying to hide her bag behind her, but Soul's too clever and knows her too well to be fooled. He comes to a stop in front of her, frowning.

"You can't steal books from a library!" he says sternly, reaching for it.

"Why not?!" she protests, hugging a book to her chest. "It’s not like I can get a library card. How else would I be able to read this without having to pay?"

He gives her an unimpressed look. "Put the book away. You have too many already, anyway, it's like we're hauling around the library of Alexandria in the back of the jeep."

She pouts, but complies. Maybe after they wrap up here, she can beg a day of recovery and sneak out to read it. Maybe she can fish up some change to make copies, or sneak in her phone to take pictures…

Something pokes at her. " _Maka_. Pay attention. Did you finish salting the perimeter?"

She nods, marshalling her thoughts back into order. "Yeah. Devil's trap in place?"

"Front entrance and back."

"Good." She hesitates, then tugs on his sleeve. "Soul, if I…if I…"

"Yeah?"

"Please don't use your powers," she says in a rush.

Soul's face turns mulish. "The only good thing - the only purpose behind them is to be able to protect you. If you're in danger -"

"I know," she says quickly. "But we still don't know what Medusa did, and I just don't…I don't want things to escalate."

He looks away, expressionless. "Hey, no, don't," she says, turning his head back to face her. She lets her hand linger on the rough stubble of his jaw as she says, "Talk to me. You promised."

He makes as if to say something, then pauses, blowing out a breath of air. "I don't trust her either," he admits quietly. "But I won't just stand by while you get hurt or - or worse." His eyes search hers, pleading, and she can see the unspoken words in their deep red depths.

"Just…" She sighs. "Only if it's an emergency. Please."

Soul frowns, but reluctantly nods. "Okay. Only if it's an emergen-"

He quiets suddenly, swinging the light towards the back of the building. There's a scuffling from the back door, and Maka's hand creeps towards the shotgun strapped to her back. The rattle of the doorknob has them both ducking behind the shelves, and the door eases open. Something steps through…and doesn't stop.

"I thought you put devil traps down at both doors!" she hisses over the loud footsteps.

"I did!" Soul insists over loud footsteps and the thump of books being swept from the stacks.

It begins to occur to her that perhaps they should have done a little more research and come up with a better plan than hoping that the first person to come in the door would be the possessed librarian, and from Soul's pained expression he's starting to realize the same thing.

He tries to peek around the corner. "I don't know why - wait, where did they go?"

She leans out but whoever came in is no longer in sight.

Something tickles the back of her neck and she spins, drawing her knife. Impossibly strong hands grip her forearm, and it's instinct more than anything that has her blade flicking out to defend herself. It slices through the stranger's shirt, and the figure grunts, doubling over.

"Oh fuck," she swears, dropping the knife.

"Maka?!"

"Maka?" the man wheezes.

"I'm fine, Soul," she tosses back sharply. "Just may have, um, stabbed him." She kneels down beside the man, ignoring Soul's outraged squawk, and her hands hover near where he clutches his abdomen. "Are you okay? Don't make any sudden movements -"

" _Maka_ ," he repeats, and something about the way he says her name makes her pause. "Jesus christ, what the fuck did you stab me for!"

Her jaw drops open. " _Black*Star?_ " she gasps.

The flashlight illuminates familiar wild blue hair, scruffy beard, and pouting expression. She hears Soul suck in a breath as Black*Star's hand comes away from his stomach, bloody.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, grip loosening on her weapon as she stares.

"What am _I_ doing? What are _you_ doing here, and why are you just stabbing random people in the middle of the night? You know that's not the right way to get rid of a spirit!"

"A spirit?" she echoes. Soul's muttering something in the background, but she ignores him over the dawning realization of their stupidity. "There's a spirit here?"

Black*Star cocks his head to the side. "Uh, yeah? The one that's been possessing the librarians here? Needed to grab the book he's haunting to get rid of him. That's why you were here too right?" He grimaces as he rubs his stomach. "That hurt," he complains.

"Oh shut up, you big baby, there's probably not even a wound there anymore."

"True," Black*Star concedes. "But this _was_ my favorite shirt."

Soul's stopped talking, and is watching their exchange with wide eyes. "So…" he says slowly. "We…don't need an ambulance then?"

"Pfft." He jabs a thumb at Maka. "Like this one could do any harm to me with that little butterknife."

"You were just whining about how much it hurt!"

"Barely stung." His eyes narrow, and he tilts his head. "Who - or what, I guess - are you? What are you doing with Ma -"

The wail of a distant siren cuts through his question, and Soul says, "I, um, may have panicked and already called 911."

They take a look at the state of the library: salt lining the windows, chalked key of Solomon acting as welcoming mats, guns poking out from the duffel bag on the floor.

"Yeah, that -"

"Good idea, definitely -"

"I'll just, uh, grab the book then -"

Flashing lights filter through the windows as the three of them make a mad dash for the exit.

"You're really not hurt?" Soul's asking, crouching beside Black*Star in the bushes as they wait for the EMTs to clear out.

"Of course not," Black*Star scoffs, picking leaves out of his clothing. "Iron's nothin' to a werewolf."

Soul blinks, but takes it in stride. "And…you're really Black*Star?" he asks. "Black*Star, the guy who once accidentally dyed Maka's hair purple? Who once got her kicked out of an arcade because he tried to start a game of dodgeball with Skee-balls when she beat him at DDR?"

"In the flesh," Black*Star says, preening. He squints at him. "I'm gonna ask again - who and what are you?"

" _Human,"_ Maka says forcefully before he can respond. "And he's my partner."

Black*Star's eyebrows shoot up. "Partner? Like… _hunting_ partner or lover part-"

" _Hunting_ ," Maka says quickly, "he's my hunting partner."

If anything, his expression becomes more incredulous at her correction.

Soul coughs. "Soul Evans," he says politely, holding out his hand.

Black*Star looks at it, and then at him, taking in his strange looks. Soul's hand begins to waver with uncertainty, but before he can take it away, Black*Star breaks into a grin. "I'd tell you my name, but you already know it, of course," he says pompously as he shakes it. Maka rolls her eyes.

"If you two are done, I think we're safe to head back to our vehicles now," she says, watching the ambulance drive off.

"All right!" Black*Star exclaims, jumping out of the shrubbery. "I'm gonna go burn this -" he waves his stolen book around, "but if you two don't have another case lined up, I've got a tip-off in Indiana that you could stick around for…"

* * *

"You told me once that the only good monster is a dead one." Soul leans against the doorframe, dark eyes burning into hers. "Neglected to mention that your oldest friend happens to be a _werewolf_."

Maka stuffs her clothes into her suitcase. "He's a…special case."

"How so?"

She sighs. "He's a pureblood. Born a werewolf, from what was one of the oldest werewolf packs in the country. Supposedly that makes him less likely to rip the hearts out of humans or go feral or something."

Soul tilts his head. “ ’Was' the oldest pack?"

She nods. "Unlike Black*Star, they weren't really into the vegetarian diet. Metaphorically speaking." She clicks the suitcase shut. "He was barely a month old when Mama, Papa, Sid and Nygus took the rest of them out. Sid and Nygus decided to raise him as their own, give him a chance."

"And?"

"And what? He hasn't eaten anyone yet." Maka hoists her backpack onto her shoulders. "Sticks with animal hearts, kills monsters, you know. Hunter stuff."

Soul looks dubious, but seems to accept her at her word, helping her drag their things to the car. The wind whips her pigtails every which way, and she ignores Soul's complaints of getting poked in the eye by hair as they toss their suitcases in the back.

"Star's already at the motel," she says as she slides into the passenger seat. "He's probably sleeping right now, and I think we should too once we get there - maybe we'll actually get a full eight hours for once -"

Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she scrambles for it. _New Email_ , her lock screen proclaims, and she can feel Soul's eyes on her as she quickly inputs her password and opens it.

_Greetings Maka, I hope you are doing good. I want to let know that I can not find what you look for. Demon deals binding unless contractor demon release them. Do not know any way of killing demons either. I will ask others but you should ask some one else. Good luck. -Pushka_

"What is it?" Soul asks.

"Nothing," she sighs, stowing her phone in her pocket. She cracks open her journal, flips to the very back, and scans Papa's list. _Fifteen down, thirty more to go,_ she thinks as she crosses out Pushka's name. _It's all right. There's still plenty of people to call, and it hasn't even been six months yet - we've got time…_

* * *

Soul must have gotten over his doubts, because Maka wakes the next afternoon to the sound of howling laughter. She fumbles with the doorknob and stumbles out, yawning.

"Hey Maks!" Black*Star greets her, entirely too brightly. "About time you woke up." He's kicked back in a lawn chair parked in front of his obnoxious yellow truck, shuttered shades and board shorts on and beer in hand, looking for all the world like he's on vacation in the Bahamas instead of in Thorntown, Indiana, near the end of fall. Soul, for his part, is trying to lean all casual and cool-like against the trunk bumper, hair slicked back and lanky legs crossed at the ankle. The effect is only mostly ruined by the pair of ridiculous Mickey Mouse sunglasses.

"Nice sunglasses," she says to him.

He scowls at her. "They're cool! Black*Star said so."

"Uh huh." She hops up on the trunk bed. "I think the last person I saw wearing those was an eight-year-old. So again - nice glasses."

"Your _face_ is nice," he mutters under his breath, and colors when she raises an eyebrow at him.

"Now children, play nice," Black*Star interjects. "Pretty sure I got a pair of YOLO ones in the back if you wanted some, Maka."

"Yeah, no thanks."

"She's always been a bit of a stick in the mud," Black*Star says to Soul. "Hey, did she ever tell you about when I tried to teach her how to play basketball?"

" _No_ ," Maka says, at the same time Soul asks, eagerly, "What happened?"

"Well," Black*Star begins, cracking his knuckles and leaning forward, "we were thirteen, and Maks was visiting, so I thought I'd challenge her to a game of basketball. And at first it was a lot of fun beating her ass into the ground, but after like, fifty points I realized she hadn't made a single basket. And that was just sad. So I tried to help her not be so pathetic, Soul, I really did. I showed her how to dribble, I coached her through shots - I even let her _stand on my shoulders_ to reach the basket better!"

"And?"

"And nothin'," Black*Star says, shaking his head. "She couldn't make a single shot. We were out there for three hours and nadda. She didn't even come close."

"No way," Soul breathes, glancing at her.

Black*Star tilts backwards to look at Maka, smirking. "…It's true," she mutters, folding her arms. Soul bursts out laughing, beaming at her. His expression is such a contrast to the last five months, so different from the dour and brooding face he's been wearing, that she can't help but stare. He notices, though, and his smile doesn't so much drop as much as it fades, and a hand comes up to cover his mouth as he looks away. She drops her gaze to her hands, heart sinking.

"Uh oh," Black*Star says, peering at the cooler next to him. "Looks like we've only got two beers left -"

" _Dibs_!" Maka shouts, lunging for the bottle dangling from his hand.

" _Ow,_ Maka, what the _fuck_ ," Soul whines, clutching his face where Maka shoved at it.

"You snooze, you lose," Maka says, tossing her hair as she uncaps her PBR.

"Says the person who slept until one in the afternoon -"

"Looks like we know who's going out to get more drinks," Black*Star says, waving his own beer in his hand.

"Man, fuck you guys," Soul says, but there's a smile curling around the corners of his lips. Maka definitely does not think it's handsome _at all_.

"Chop chop dude, don't want the ice to melt." Black*Star makes a shooing motion with his hand. "And get something better than this cheap-ass alcohol!" he yells at Soul's defeated retreating back.

Soul very deliberately shows both of them the backs of his middle fingers before getting in the jeep.

"Cool partner you picked up," Black*Star says casually, taking a swig of his beer. "Surprised though. Maka Albarn, teaming up with someone? And a _guy_? World must have really gone to shit. Whatever happened to 'boys are stupid and useless and will only get in my way'?"

"I was _five_ ," Maka says, scowling. " _You_ ran around declaring yourself a god among men and demanding our parents give you candy when you were the same age."

"Psh, and you're telling me I wasn't right?" Black*Star makes a show of flexing his muscles, to which Maka just rolls her eyes. "You know, it wasn't that long ago that you rejected me when I asked if you wanted to hunt together." He wipes away a fake tear. "Cried myself to sleep for the last six years, thinking about it."

"Shut up." Maka swats his arm. "That was…that was different. Soul needed my help. Needs my help. And you snore as loudly as you talk, jackass, I'd never get any sleep if we teamed up permanently."

He grunts in acknowledgement, then stands up, careful not to look at her. "…Thought maybe your mom finally convinced you about me."

Maka looks away, lips pressed together in a thin line. "You know you've always been my best friend, Black*Star," she says eventually.

Black*Star laughs, a little bitter. "I'm your only friend, Maka. It's not exactly tough competition."

"Still." She twists her beer bottle in her hand, before narrowing her eyes at him. "And I do too have other friends. I've got Soul -"

"Partners don't count."

"Do too! And I've got - got -" She casts around wildly. "Tsubaki! I've got her, so that's three."

"Tsubaki? Who's that? She another hunter?"

"No, she's - she's a witch. She's pretty good too, and didn't make a deal with a demon to get that way either."

Black*Star gives a low whistle. "Maka Albarn, of the Kamashi family, associating with a witch and calling her a friend? You _have_ changed."

Maka scowls at him, face flushing with something that feels suspiciously like shame. "N-no I haven't! It's just…I didn't…"

“ ’S cool," he says, waving off her inability to explain herself. "I like the new Maka. Less stabby, more talky. Maybe a partner was what you needed after all."

"…Yeah," she says, looking out at the highway. The last time he had seen her, she had been sobbing and swearing to the god she knew didn't exist that she'd never take a partner, never ever. She supposes, compared to that, she has changed for the better.

She wonders if that's necessarily a good thing, and it brings to mind another conversation. "Do you like doing this Black*Star?" she asks.

"Doing what?"

"You know." She gestures vaguely. "Hunting."

Black*Star studies her, eyes serious and searching. "…You okay Maka? Hunting has been your dream since forever. Remember what your mom used to say? You came out of the womb -"

"- trying to strangle my own umbilical cord like it was a vampire, I know, I know." Maka sighs. "It's just…I don't know. Things have gotten…complicated lately."

"Tell me about it." He belches, and Maka wrinkles her nose before shoving at him with a foot. "I've been up to my eyeballs in shapeshifters and vampires and ghouls. Seems like as soon as I put one down another pops up again. Must be nice to have someone to at least help drive you back to your room after sawing through a couple of heads.”

"I don't know how much longer Soul's going to stick around for," she confesses. "And…I don't know. The thought of going back to hunting solo…"

"Well, my offer's still on the table," Black*Star says, kicking back in the chair. "You'd be pretty much the only person who I'd want to hunt with anyway." He huffs out a breath, looking up at the gray sky. "Probably the only person who'd want to hunt with me too."

She gives him a smile, letting her affection for him shine through her veneer of constant exasperation. "Thanks Black*Star. I'll keep that in mind." She plays with the bottle top. "I was just thinking -"

_"I'm so proud of you sweetheart. You know that, right?"_

"Maka?"

Maka shakes her head. "Nothing." She slaps a smile on her face. "I'm probably just worrying over nothing."

Black*Star nods sagely. "Worrywart Maka, that's you." He doesn't even flinch at her punch, and she settles for scowling at him instead. "Don't know Soul that well, but I doubt he's gonna up and leave you. Not with the way he looks at you. And he seems like a good guy, he's stuck around with you and your insanely violent ways for longer than most people would've. He'd have taken off earlier if he had a problem with you."

"He might not have a choice," she mutters, choosing to ignore his comment.

"Speaking of." Black*Star nods to the road, where the jeep has just come into view. "Looks like our delivery boy has arrived."

Maka perks up and waves. Black*Star is looking at her with a funny little grin. "What?" she asks, trying to school her face back into a neutral expression.

"Nothin', nothin', just…you _sure_ he's just a hunting partner?"

"Black*Star," she begins, face hot.

"I'm just saying, you could do worse for yourself. Smart, loyal, easy on the eyes, even with the whole albino thing…"

" _Quit it,_ " she says, shoving him. "I am not discussing how attractive my partner is with you."

His expression turns sly. "So you _do_ think he's attractive."

"I'm not blind, dummy," she says forcefully, wishing it felt less like a confession. "I share a car and a room with him on a daily basis, I - I can admit that he's objectively handsome."

"You sure you don't share showers with him too?"

" _No_ ," she hisses, swatting at him. "He's - we're - just, no." For so many reasons.

"Why not?" Black*Star asks more seriously, reading her face.

Where to even begin? His own feelings that probably don't match hers? His old life back in Connecticut that he's eager to pick up again, a life that she can't fit into? His deal, with a collection date that looms ever closer? But she settles on the one that she knows Black*Star would understand. "Because," she says, "you know how many ways partners-to-lovers goes wrong."

His teasing expression falls away, and he shifts uncomfortably. "…I guess," he mutters.

The slam of a door has them both turning. Soul waves a six pack in the air, grinning, and Maka can't help her own smile in response.

"Blue Moon? _Hell_ yes," Black*Star cheers, giving Soul a fist bump. "This's perfect. Stick them in the cooler, and they'll be nice and cold once we get back from the police station." He jerks a thumb to his eyesore of a truck. "Hop in. Let's get this show on the road!"

* * *

"I fucking _hate_ your car," Maka grits out as Black*Star's truck bounces down the road.

"What was that?!" Black*Star yells over the dulcet tones of "Move, Bitch". Maka meets Soul's eyes through the rearview mirror. They silently beg her relieve him of his suffering.

Ludacris's rapping is mercifully cut off as Maka turns off the music. "Hey!" Black*Star yelps. "I was listening to that!"

"So what are we hunting anyway?" Soul asks quickly, throwing her a grateful look.

Black*Star blows out a breath. "Five people have been killed in this town in the past month. Bodies have been found in pretty bad condition - torn to shreds, for the most part. They're calling it a wild animal, a mauling or something, but I was able to get some pics - see for yourself."

He passes a folder to her. Maka leafs through the printouts, skimming the newspaper articles and studying the black and white photos accompanying them.

"What are you thinking?" she hears Soul ask.

"Skinwalkers, maybe. Vengeful spirits. Could be rugaru, maybe even ghouls."

"It says here their hearts couldn't be accounted for," Maka says slowly. "You know…usually that means -"

Black*Star cuts her off. "Werewolves. Yeah, I know." He pulls off onto the highway exit. "It's possible, but the timing is off. The victims have all disappeared a week or two after the full moon and their bodies turn up a few days after that."

"Purebloods?"

Maka looks up to see Black*Star shrug with exaggerated casualness. His hands tighten on the steering wheel, but his face and voice are carefully neutral when he replies, "Could be. Not a lot of those around anymore though."

Twenty minutes later, Black*Star slows, turning onto a narrow side street. "We're here!" he sings as he puts the car in park.

"Finally," Maka mutters, getting out of the car. She stretches, smooths down her skirt, and gives herself a nod in the mirror before making her way over to the other side of the truck.

"Um." Maka looks at Black*Star, who is slipping into a suit jacket. "What are you doing?"

Black*Star throws a tie on, clumsily trying to knot it. "Coming with you guys, duh."

"Oh no. No no no." Maka tries to tug the tie off him, and Black*Star slaps at her fingers. "There's no way you're posing as FBI."

"C'mon Maks, lemme come in too. I've gotten better, I swear."

"What's going on?" Soul comes around, fiddling with his own tie. Maka rolls her eyes and comes over and straightens it for him, then smooths down his hair. Soul stands still with only a minimum of grumbling, looking very put upon.

Black*Star pretends to gag. "Get a room you two."

The tips of Soul's ears turn red, and Maka whirls around, glaring. Black*Star gives her a toothy grin through the side mirror, then busies himself with touching up his own appearance.

"Black*Star thinks he's coming with us to talk to the police," Maka tells Soul.

"Okay. And?"

"And he can't lie to save his life." She scowls at Black*Star. "Not to mention he pisses almost everyone else off so much that it's impossible to keep a low profile or get any information out of anyone." She pauses, fuming, before bursting out, "And what kind of FBI agent has _blue hair?_ _"_

Black*Star gives himself one last wink in the mirror before turning back to them. "I've been doing this by myself for a while, you know," he says, placing a hand over his heart. "Ever since you _rejected me_ -"

"Oh my god, just _go_ already." She shoves past him as he cackles.

"Rejected you?" Soul asks, looking between the two of them.

Black*Star gives a wicked grin and slings an arm around Soul's shoulders. "Oh yeah, I asked Maka here to be my partner when she decided to drop out of school. But she told me she'd never partner up with anyone after what happened to her mom, and took off."

"But…" She can feel Soul's stare, curious and confused, burning into her neck.

She turns to them. "Are you guys going to stop gossiping or are we going to let the entire precinct know that we're impersonating federal officers?" she asks, hands on her hips.

Black*Star raises his arms in the air, placating, but his grin doesn't slip from his face. Worse, Soul is sporting a matching expression, one with much sharper teeth, and Maka finds herself enchanted with the softness of his smile.

"You -" she jabs a finger at Black*Star, "stay quiet and let me and Soul do the talking. And _you._ " She turns the finger to Soul, falters, then says, "Quit smiling, we’re supposed to be FBI. Come on, we don't have all day."

Thornton's police department is the appropriate size for a town that houses roughly fifteen thousand people - that is to say, it's a tiny, brick and mortar affair on a quiet street. Maka strides boldly through the front doors, subtly adjusting her blazer, before folding her hands in front of her and placing them firmly on the counter.

The man at the front desk jumps, furiously swiping away the Youtube app on his phone and jerking the headphones out of his ears. He gives her a nervous smile. "Hello, how may I help you?"

"FBI," Maka says, flipping over her badge briefly before replacing it in her coat. "Agent Kepler. These are my partners, Agent Brahe -" Soul inclines his head, "and…" she sighs, "Agent Miz."

“ ’Sup," Black*Star says, giving the man a casual nod.

"…Never seen an agent with blue hair before," the man says, eyeing him.

"How many agents does a backwat-"

"The government strives to be non-discriminatory about appearance," Maka says, treading heavily on Black*Star's foot.

"Obviously," the man says, eyes having shifted to Soul's white locks and red eyes.

A short man barrels through a door and blinks at the three "agents" in the room. "Heming, who are these people?"

"FBI, or so they say, Ahab," Heming replies, frowning.

Ahab's face broadens into a smile. "Perfect! You folks here about Louis Hartford's disappearance?"

"Yyyy-es," Soul says, glancing at Maka. "That's exactly right."

"Well come in, come in!" He holds the door open for them, and they file through, Black*Star throwing a smirk at Heming. Maka resists the urge to slap him upside the head.

"You know, I got a hundred percent on my FBI entrance exam," Black*Star brags as they wind through the cubicles.

"That so, son?" Ahab responds, amused. "You know I didn't think they took kids as young as you to be officials. Don't you have to graduate from college first?"

"Oh, I already did that," Black*Star says. "I skipped a couple of grades in school 'cause I was so advanced. I'm actually a grade above her -" he points to Maka, "even though I'm a year younger."

Soul elbows her before she can respond that _actually_ , she's only three months older, and there's no _way_ Black*Star would have been able to skip anything except class. "If you wouldn't mind, sir," Soul says politely, "we'd like to know more about these ah, maulings. Five in the past month, correct?"

"Oh sure, sure. Think Louie's disappearance is connected to the rest of them?"

"It's a working theory."

"The bodies have been found mostly out in the woods and in just terrible shape, really. Torn to bits, chewed on, and missing some organs too, mostly hearts." He waves them through into his office, takes a seat at his desk. "We've been playing it up as a rabid animal," he continues, "but within the department, we're not so sure."

"Why's that?"

"Well, every victim we've found has had an…unusual mark on them. We've been keeping it out of the papers, don't want it to start a panic, y'see. But we've reason to believe that it might be some form of satanic cult doing ritual murders or something like that."

All three hunters look at each other. "Would we be able to see this mark?" Maka asks.

He slides a few glossy photos across to them. Maka looks down, and with a jolt, she realizes she recognizes the strange symbol carved into the forehead of the corpse. Next to her, Soul is scrutinizing the photos with a puzzled frown.

She catches Black*Star's eye, and gives him a little nod. He winks back and hops up on the desk. "So, Ahab," he begins, "you get many murders out here?"

Maka leans closer to Soul. "I've seen this before," she whispers.

He keeps his head down, hiding his teeth as he says, surprised, "So have I. I don't know where, but something about it looks familiar." His deep red eyes cut to hers, and she fights off the responding flutter of her heart.

"Of course, I've solved a hundred cases like this one. I'm an expert in these kinds of things. You're lucky that they sent me out here -"

"It was seven weeks ago, at the factory," she says. "I remember - there was graffiti, in red, and it looked fresh. I didn't get a chance to look closer, but…"

"I'm not surprised you haven't figured it out, it's hard for people who aren't as smart or as amazing as me -"

"You think it might be Arachne's doing?"

"Seems likely." She slips one of the photos into her pocket. "We should examine the bodies, find out about where this man was last seen -"

" _Excuse_ me?"

The outraged exclamation catches both Maka and Soul's attention. Ahab's half raised out of his seat, face reddening with anger. He glowers at Black*Star.

Black*Star prattles on. "You'd never catch me dead in a place like this, it's too small for someone as big as me -" He's cut off by Ahab raising a trembling finger to point straight at him.

"You. And you. And you." He jabs towards the door. " _Out._ I don't want any of you on this case."

Maka glares at Black*Star and plasters on a pacifying smile. "Sir, you'd be interfering with a federal investigation -"

"So let them send more agents down to this _backwater town,_ " he declares. "Maybe then they'll take our concerns seriously, instead of sending a couple of _children_ who clearly don't respect the station they've achieved!" He points again to the door. " _Out!"_

* * *

 _“ ’I've gotten better, I swear',"_ Maka mimics under her breath. “ ’ _Let me come Maka. I won't mess this up. I won't piss off the police and have us resort to breaking and entering'."_

"Oh whatever, he was asking for it," Black*Star says, waving her off. "Besides, we got what we wanted, we know about the missing man and this weird symbol."

"Yeah, and instead of being shown to the morgue and talking with the medical examiner, we're out here, freezing our asses off -"

"Would you two _shut up,"_ Soul hisses, fiddling with the lock. "It's really hard to concentrate with all your bickering, and the last thing we want is someone investigating and getting us arrested."

Maka and Black*Star wage a silent war through frowns and glares until there's a click of the lock and the door swings open.

They steal down corridors, following signs to the morgue. Soul makes quick work of another lock, and then they're in.

"Which one do you think is the last victim?" Soul asks, scanning the drawers.

Black*Star sniffs, then points to one. "Probably that one. Seems freshest."

They ease the drawer open and pull back the sheet. "It's one of them, at least," Maka says, grimacing. "Look -" she points to its forehead. "Same brand as on the other one. Looks like it was carved into the flesh." She snaps a quick picture.

Soul shudders and hands her a pair of gloves. "These do look like claw marks," she says, peering closer. "Probably bigger or deeper than a normal dog or wolf could make."

"Bear, maybe?" Black*Star suggests.

"Maybe," Maka says, doubtful.

"Hey, look at this," Soul says. He turns over the corpse's hand, and all three of them crowd around it.

“ ’Admit One'," Maka reads. She looks up at them. "To what?"

* * *

"The carnival." Maka folds down the newspaper. "Really?"

Soul shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. "It was the only thing here that uses those types of stamps," he says. "From what I could find, it travels pretty often, but - get this - it set up on the outskirts of town about five weeks ago."

"Right around the time that all of these murders began to happen."

Soul dips his head, popping a bite of pancake into his mouth and chewing. She takes advantage of his distraction to steal a piece of his bacon; he scowls, and draws his plate closer to himself. "Anything on this missing man?" she asks.

"Not much, other than that he also happened to visit the carnival a day or two before he disappeared."

"Perfect. The ad says it opens at around seven, so we'll wait until it gets dark and head in to check it out." She swirls her scrambled eggs in ketchup, taking a mouthful before adding, "That is, if Black*Star ever wakes up."

"I saw him go for a run this morning. I texted him where we are, he'll show up eventually."

A companionable quiet settles over them between the clinking of silverware and low murmuring from the other patrons. Soul stretches, his leg leaning against hers as he readjusts to a new position. Maka tries to focus on the bland taste of her food, the cool weight of her fork, the stickiness of the booth seat, but she's too attuned to his presence, to the way his foot bumps into hers, to the warmth of him through his jeans.

She sneaks a peek at him, lingering on the relaxed line of his brow, on his long, pale eyelashes and tanned skin. The waitress comes around, trying to fill his coffee while staying as far away from possible. Maka gives her a glare over her mug, but her eyes get caught on the curl of his mouth when he gives the woman a small smile of thanks, even as she hurries away from them.

 _It's not like that_ , she had told Black*Star, had told Liz, and it was true. Despite having lived together in close proximity for five years, despite having seen and patched up practically every inch of each other's bodies, despite knowing more about the deep, dark parts of themselves than anyone else in the world, Soul had never given any hint of wanting more, and, in turn, neither had she.

And yet it's times like these, when they're doing everyday things like eating at a diner instead of burning monsters to a crisp, that she wonders. What if she were just an ordinary girl, and Soul just an ordinary boy? Would this be the beginnings of a date - breakfast followed by a trip to the carnival, and topped off with a late-night movie on an old, flickering TV? Would she still feel the way she does towards him even without knowing the triumphant grin he wears whenever he cracks a particularly difficult lock, without knowing how he trembles when they pass by train stations, without knowing the warm feeling of his back to hers as they face down the monsters that hunger for their flesh?

Would he see her differently, if she had been born into the same world he was?

"Maka?" She blinks, focuses on his eyes, dark with concern. "You okay?" he asks, frowning, furrow back between his eyebrows.

"Y-yeah," she says quickly, pulling her gaze away and resting it firmly on her toast. "Just…the food here isn't very good."

"You're telling me," he says, snorting. "I don't think the cooks here know eggs over-easy from hard-boiled."

"Mmm." She pokes at one listlessly. The sterile lines of Pushka's email run through her head as she moves her food around on her plate, and she feels selfish, suddenly, for daydreaming about fanciful relationships when he's only got -

 _No_ , she tells herself fiercely, stabbing at her scrambled eggs. _That's_ not _going to happen - he's_ not _going to hell, I'll find a way -_

"…Hey." Soul's hands come up to cover her own, and she hears him lean forward. "Maka," he says, trying to catch her eye; reluctantly, she looks up at him. "Are you sure you're all right?" His gaze is probing, worry written all over his features, and she hates being the cause of it, hates being the reason his mood turns somber and his mouth turns downwards, hates being the reason his lifespan is ticking down – the cause of everything terrible that’s ever happened in his life.

She's saved from answering by the violent clanging of the bell as the diner's door bursts open. Soul withdraws his hands, leaving her feeling cold and a little lonelier than before. “ ’Sup y'all!" Black*Star cries as he swaggers across the tiles and slides in beside her.

"Ugh, Star, _move_ , you're squishing me," she complains, shoving at him. It's about as effective as trying to blow down a brick house, and Black*Star grins wolfishly at her before kicking his feet up on Soul's side of the booth.

"Soooo, any luck figuring out our mystery meat's mystery stamp?"

They fill him in as he inhales enough sausages, bacon and ham to feed a small army. His eyes grow comically wide at the mention of staking out the carnival tonight.

"This. Is. _Awesome,_ " he exclaims, nearly knocking over Maka's orange juice with his wild gestures. "A _carnival_?! This is the best case ever."

"Hooray," Soul deadpans, though Maka doesn't miss the way his lips twitch upwards.

"What better place to show off my amazing skills?" Both Soul and Maka struggle to keep Black*Star from jumping on the table as he declares, "I'm going to win all of the games and get all the prizes!"

"They're rigged, you idiot," Maka says, rolling her eyes. "You can't win them, they're fixed so you waste your money trying."

"Maybe _you_ can't win them," Black*Star says, turning his nose up at her, "but nothing's impossible for someone as great as me."

"You want to bet?" she snaps, half-rising out of her seat.

Soul sighs, rubbing his forehead. "Guys…"

"You're on! Whoever loses has to give the other a piggyback ride for the rest of the carnival. Don't worry Soul, you can have our prizes. Most of them from me, of course."

"Please, we both know _I'm_ the better shot here -"

Soul stares at the ceiling, miserable. "Why do I have a feeling this is going to go poorly?" he wonders aloud.

* * *

 _DING!_ goes the bell, and Black*Star tosses the mallet aside and bows as the bored looking attendant hands him another stuffed animal.

"Funshine Bear! Another one to add to your collection, Soul." He reverently places the bear in the crook of Soul's elbow. Soul looks incredibly unimpressed.

Maka rolls up her sleeves and twirls the mallet in her hand before squaring up and raising it above her head.

 _DING!_ it goes again, and Maka smirks as she evens Soul out with another stuffed bear. "I think Grumpy Bear suits him a lot more," she says, standing on her tiptoes to ruffle his hair; Soul ducks his head, scowling at his new acquisition.

Black*Star nods at her approvingly. "So we're still at three to four then." He scans the area, points to another booth. "This one next!"

Maka grins. "Oh come on, Black*Star, make this challenging for me."

"Just wanted to let you catch upppp," he sings as he dashes away.

"We're blowing all our money on this," Soul grumbles as he attempts to shift his arms to accommodate his prizes. He stops a family walking by, bending down to give the little girl one of his stuffed animals. She eyes him warily, but snatches the prize from his hands before darting behind her parent, shielding herself from the strange man with unnatural hair. Maka scowls after them, but can’t help but notice with no small amount of pleasure that it was not her gift that he gave away.

"Come on, Soul, quit griping," she says, tugging him away. The tinny music from the carousel, the smell of fried dough from the stalls, and the shrieks of joy and terror from the teenagers riding the zipper have her feeling light and giddy. Kicking Black*Star's ass in more than one game fuels her with more confidence than she's felt in a while, and she impulsively loops her arm in his.

He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes, shoulder brushing against hers. The brightly colored lights paint hues on his face and hair, staining the sharp grin he sends her. For a minute, she lets herself pretend that they really are just an ordinary, normal couple out on a date to the carnival, that they're here for no other purpose than enjoying each other's company. That the only plans they have after she trounces Black*Star is to ride the Ferris Wheel, to sit in the swinging car at the very top and look down at the patchwork of lights below, hands held tight, responsible for no one's safety and happiness except their own.

Black*Star's talking the ear off the poor teenager behind the counter when she and Soul reach him. His eyes rest on their linked arms, and he gives her a knowing look and a waggle of his eyebrows before turning back to the attendant. "Looks like the next sucker is here," he says, and slaps a five on the counter. "Load me up!"

Maka narrows her eyes at him, and lets go of Soul, holding out an expectant hand. "I'm going to crush your ego so hard you'll need a microscope to find it afterwards," she growls. Soul sighs as he fishes out another five from his wallet and deposits it in her hand.

"Here you go," the teen says, handing her one of the rifles. She accepts it, feeling the cool metal against her palm, and sights down the barrel.

The attendant turns to Black*Star with the other gun. He goes to take it, then suddenly hisses, snatching his hand back.

"Sir?"

"It's fine, it's fine," he says, giving him a weak smile. Under the table, he opens his fist, and from the corner of her eye Maka can see the angry burn across his palm, marring the old silvery one beneath it.

"Are you going to play, sir?" the teen asks, and Maka intervenes before Black*Star tries to take another layer of skin off with the silver coated handle.

"No, he must have used too much force at the high striker and sprained his wrist. But we've got another person here who will take his place." She gestures to Soul. "C'mon Soul, show us what you got."

Soul blinks, still clutching Grumpy Bear. "What?"

Black*Star places a hand on his shoulder. "Godspeed, my bro," he says solemnly. "Preserve our honor."

" _Our_ honor?" he scoffs, but hands him the stuffed animal and takes the seat next to her. The teen jitters backwards as Soul leans forward. His face pales as Soul yawns and exposes his unusual dentition, and looks about to say something, but catches Maka's murderous glare, and decides against it. He shoves the gun at him instead, quickly stepping back as Soul takes it.

"Whoever can shoot out the star with the least amount of bullets wins." Maka grins at him. "And don't forget to take the safety off this time, Soul."

"I haven't - it was our first case together! I was nervous!" He narrows his eyes at her, competitive grin flaring. They both ignore the kid's shudder. "Oh, you're going down now, Albarn."

"Good luck with _that_ ," she says, taunting, and raises the gun.

Five minutes later, she leans on her elbows and watches Soul as he curses and aims; the last bit of red flutters to the ground as the bullet pierces the paper.

"Eight bullets. Eight!" he grouses as she's handed her prize. "How is that even possible with guns as shitty as these?"

Maka shrugs, rubbing her cheek against the stuffed shark. "There are a lot of terrible guns out there," she says, watching as Soul struggles to accept his comically oversized SpongeBob SquarePants doll. "Just have to learn how to compensate."

 Black*Star sighs and shakes his head. "You let me down, Soul. Now it's four to four. How can you ever make it up to me?"

Soul wordlessly offers him the cartoon doll. "You're forgiven," Black*Star says immediately, accepting it with glee and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Last one?" Soul asks, rather desperately. "We aren't just here for fun and games, you know."

"You're right." Maka nods. "Okay, let's do the -"

"Rope ladder! Rope ladder!" Black*Star hops up and down, gesturing wildly. "ROPE! LADDER!"

"…Rope ladder," she agrees, sighing as he runs off. "Here," she says to Soul, placing the shark in his arms and giving him a sincere smile. "For being so cool about taking Black*Star's place back there."

He looks at her, something like affection tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks," he says, giving it a squeeze.

"Not going to give that one away either?" she teases him.

"…I like sharks," he mutters, voice muffled against its plush stomach. There's a flush working its way up his neck, and she can't help giggling.

"Come on," she says, poking at his side. "The sooner I beat Black*Star, the sooner we can start spreading out and searching for clues."

"Mmkay," he responds, falling into step beside her. This time he's the one that reaches for her, fingers brushing tentatively against the inside of her wrist. She gets a mouthful of shark as he carefully threads her arm through his own.

"…Don't want you to get lost," he grumbles, and Maka glows.

"MAKA ALBARN," Black*Star booms, pointing to her from atop a bench. Passersby slow to a stop, watching curiously. "I CHALLENGE YOU."

"Get _down_!" she yells, letting go of Soul to try and yank Black*Star off of his perch. "You're making a scene!"

"This is going to be a battle for the ages, Maks!" he protests. "How could anyone not want to see me completely outclass you on these ropes?"

"Just - shut up, let's go already!"

They take their places at the foot of the ladders, making faces at each other as the woman explains the rules. She doesn't even have to see Soul to know he's rolling his eyes at the two of them, and resolves to win another monstrous stuffed animal for him - maybe the gila monster?

Less than two minutes later she's flat on her back, staring up at the dark sky and bright lights. Black*Star's stupid blue hair comes into view as he looms over his defeated opponent. "Told you I'd win!" he crows before offering her a hand.

"It's not right is what it is," she grumbles as she lets him pull her to her feet.

"Now, now, I won fair and square," Black*Star says, patting her back as they make their way off the padded ground. "And you know what that means…"

Maka grits her teeth, but squats down obligingly. Black*Star clambers on, and she straightens up, only to be nearly knocked over as Black*Star waves wildly at Soul. "Did you see that?!" he yells in her ear.

"Black*Star, stop it, you're making me lose my balance, _and_ deafening me!"

Soul's shaking his head as they approach him. "I swear, I can't take you two anywhere," he says. Black*Star plucks his SpongeBob from him, knotting its arms around his neck.

"All right, it's about nine-thirty now," Maka says, checking her watch. "Carnival closes at eleven, so we've got two hours to take a look around, then maybe find a place to hide out so we can explore more after hours. It's a pretty big fairground so we should probably split up…at least we've already looked at the game and food area."

"Soul, how about you take the area with all the rides?" Black*Star suggests. "Maka and me will check out the event tents."

"Black*Star, what's the point of splitting up if we're going to be together?"

"Um, we made a bet, Maka, and you lost fair and square. You gotta carry out your punishment until the end of the carnival!"

Soul frowns. "But…" His eyes flicker to her face, concern writ in his features. "I don't know…"

"It'll be fine, Soul," Maka says, sighing. "He's right, I lost and he won." She shrugs. "It won't take long. Let's meet at the Ferris Wheel at 10:45. I'll text you if we're done sooner or if we find something."

"You can take her through the Tunnel of Love later, bro," Black*Star assures him, and Soul sputters, face turning an interesting shade of red. "C'mon Maka, tally ho! Onward!" he yells, feet drumming against the sides of her legs.

Maka throws Soul one last suffering glance before trudging in the direction of the tents.

They pass through the game alley and wind their way through the food stalls, heading to the back of the carnival. Massive tents tower above them, the distant ones looking like the dark shapes of mountains against a washed-out night sky. It's darker here, quieter, though Maka can hear faint gasps and cheers coming from some of the venues, and some other people wander here and there between the tents. Black*Star cheerfully waves at everyone who passes them. "Black*Star, stop waving," Maka says crossly. "We're already drawing too much attention to ourselves."

"No such thing as _too much_ attention, Maks," he says, giving a thumbs up to a wide-eyed child. "Hey, after we're done here, can we go grab some grub? I smelled sausages on the way here."

"Again? You just ate less than a half hour ago, and you nearly bought out the stall!"

"I'm a growing boy," he says, shrugging, before saying, "Ooo, look at that one!"

She follows his finger to a sign outside of one of the big tops. “ ’The Traveling Circus of Loew Presents An Act of Courage, Daring and Strength," she reads. "Sword Swallowing, Fire Breathing, Knife Throwing and More! Not for the faint of heart."

They look at each other. "Can't hurt to check it out," Maka says, affecting a disinterested tone.

"We _are_ supposed to be looking everywhere for clues, just in case," Black*Star agrees, and Maka pushes back the tent flap.

They're immediately blocked from going further. Maka looks up - and up, and up, at the large, imposing figure. "Tickets?" the woman asks in a rough voice.

Maka's hands go to her pocket before realizing that Soul's currently in possession of most of their money; Black*Star pulls out his wallet, only to come up empty. They smile winningly at the ticket-collector before turning back around.

Outside, Maka crouches behind some boxes, keeping an eye out as Black*Star struggles with one of the smaller stakes. "Hurry up!" she hisses.

Black*Star grunts, straining - then he's grabbing her, shoving her underneath the canvas before diving in after. They pause for a minute, listening, but no footsteps come bearing down on them, and they breathe a sigh of relief.

They're under some of the bleachers. Light slants between the benches, and metal creaks above them. Maka jumps out of the way as a popcorn rains from above, nearly slipping in a puddle of soda. They creep across the grass and peer out through the slats into the ring.

Between the shifting sea of jeans and tennis shoes, Maka can make out two people in the center. They're huge, buff, stripped down to trunks and sports bras. One of them twirls a long, slender sword in his hands, and the other takes a stance in front of a log twice as long as she.

The log-performer makes a show of cracking her knuckles and rolling her shoulders before squatting and sliding her fingers under the wood. She strains, neck muscles bulging, teeth gritted, for a few seconds. The log wobbles, but doesn't move. Above Maka, the crowd cheers, encouraging her, and the woman takes a deep breath. She bends down to try again…and this time is able to lift the log with a single hand, bowing and smiling at the applause.

The other steps up with his sword, raising it above his head. He makes a couple of slices at the log, neatly separating it in half, and then in quarters. His mouth opens as he dangles the blade above his head, before plunging it down through his grinning maw.

There's an appreciative gasp as the man works more and more of the sword down his throat, until just the hilt is protruding. Slowly, he reverses the movement of the blade, gleaming metal stained with blood rising from his mouth inch by inch. The tip clears his lips, and he spins the weapon a few times before sheathing it and bowing.

"The log is probably hollow inside," Maka muses. "And I bet that blade is collapsible. You'd think they'd make their tricks a little less obvious, huh, Black…Star?"

Black*Star stares at the ring, eyes wide, face pale. Sweat beads along his forehead, and his hands tremble at his sides. He turns to look at her, pupils pinpoint in the seafoam green of his irises.

"That's not fake," he says, voice shaking. "It's all real. Those - those are werewolves."

The hushed chill of his tone blows through her, makes her shiver with fear. "Are you sure?" she asks, already fumbling for her pistol and for her phone. Thank god she had the forethought to insist they bring silver bullets with them.

Black*Star nods firmly. "At least the two in the center." He's already tugging at her, leading her away from the bleachers as she types out a message.

She presses send, and stows her phone in her pocket. "Hopefully Soul's checking his phone," she says, though she knows him well enough to be sure that he's reading it now. "We need to get out of here, find out how many of them there are -"

A footfall, and they're both whirling, Maka brandishing her gun and Black*Star his fists. A shadow unfolds from one of the dark corner, walks steadily towards them.

"Well well," the man says quietly, crossing its arms as it towers over them. "What do we have here? Two little criminals, deciding to get a free show?"

Black*Star bares his teeth, setting into a fighting stance, and the action makes the man's head turns towards him. "…Oh ho," he says, suddenly interested. "Not just a criminal after all. Where's your pack, runt?"

"You're looking at her," Maka says, forcing flintiness into her voice. "You're the ones that have been taking these people, aren't you? You've been eating their hearts and dumping their bodies."

The man's eyes flicker towards her, and that's all the warning she gets before she's being lifted in the air by her throat, gun clattering to the ground. "Meat don't talk," the man sneers, and Maka struggles in his grasp, desperately lashing out with her legs.

  
Black*Star launches himself at the man, and he stumbles backwards, grip loosening. Maka gasps for air, pries his hands off her windpipe. She drops to the ground and fumbles for her dropped weapon.

Her hands skitter over the handle, and she snatches the pistol up. Black*Star's pummeling the werewolf, who grunts with each blow. She raises her weapon, yelling, "Black*Star, get out of the way!" as she tries to get a clear shot between the scuffling bodies.

Arms snake around her chest, seizing her from behind. Something pins her to them, and she looks up at slitted eyes and long yellow fangs. "What's this you've found, Jakub?" her captor rumbles, and Maka's eyes are drawn to the long string of saliva that stretches from his mouth, down to her shoulder. "Something for the queen? Or something for us?"

Jakub grunts, before suddenly ducking the next blow. Black*Star nearly topples over, and the werewolf uses the opportunity to snag the back of his collar, yanking him up to eye-level. "Might be something of both," he replies, shaking him like a rag doll. "Look at this one, Ivan. Smells like a 'wolf, but don't seem like much of one, huh?"

Black*Star twists from side to side, kicking and flailing. He takes a swipe at Jakub with long sharpened claws, snarling. The werewolf laughs in response, catching his wrist and bending it backwards until Black*Star's breath comes short and strained with pain.

"Might not look like much," Ivan says, "but he's not bound by the moon, that's for sure. Giriko's gonna want to see them both."

"Dinner and a show." Jakub licks his lips and grins. "Tonight is going to be _fun_."


	2. the heart

The werewolves are not gentle, and with her hands bound Maka's unable to stop her chin from slamming into the floor as they toss her on the ground. The bag is ripped off of her, and she sucks in a deep breath of musty air as she quickly rolls onto her back and hides her cuffed hands behind her.

She takes a minute to look at her surroundings - some sort of small room, with a rolling shutter taking up one of its sides. Dim lights illuminate the discolored ceiling tiles and exposed wires run along the walls. Maka can faintly make out the whirling of machinery, tinny cackling, and screams, some sounding canned and others more realistic. _The haunted house ride_ , she deduces. Soul was on this side of the carnival; had he checked out this area? Was he here too - and just as captive as they?

Another thump next to her, and Black*Star squirms before one of the werewolves frees him from the sack. He sits up, glaring, and she can see the way his muscles bunch as he tries to free his hands, but to no avail - they must have anticipated his strength.

The werewolves converse in a language that Maka doesn't recognize, barely paying any attention as she sits up and scoots closer to Black*Star.

"I'm hungry," he whispers as she settles against him, back-to-back.

"Really?" she hisses back. "You're still thinking about food in a situation like this? We have more important things to be worried about!"

"Can't help it," he grumbles, shifting uncomfortably. She snatches his hand as it brushes past hers and crawls her way up, feeling for the metal of the cuffs, then the hole for the key.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and she's about to tell him to _shut up_ , she's _trying_ to free him first, when the werewolves suddenly stop talking and look at the shutter. Behind her, she can feel Black*Star's spine stiffen, and his hair brushes against her neck as he cranes his neck in the same direction.

"Time to meet the boss," one of the werewolves says cheerfully, yanking them to their feet. He hoists the shutter upwards before ushering them into an expansive room. About ten werewolves turn to look at them, inhuman eyes zeroing in on her.

Long claws trail along the fabric of her sleeves as she's thrust through their midst, hot breath washing against the back of her neck. Everywhere she looks she sees gleaming fangs and lolling tongues, and Maka does her best to keep her head held high. One werewolf dares to tug on one of her pigtails - she whips around, and hisses, " _Don't touch me_." Rancorous laughter follows her declaration, and each werewolf she passes from then on makes a point of yanking at her hair, ripping ashen strands from her scalp and leaving them fluttering in her wake.

Behind her, Black*Star's having just as hard a time as she. The werewolves jeer and shove him between them like a pinball. He stumbles into her back more than once as they stick out feet to trip him, and she does her best to stabilize him, keep him upright as they hurry past.

Finally, they get through the crowd, and find themselves standing in front of the largest werewolf yet. He's easily seven feet tall, looming over them with crossed arms. Maka squares her stance, raises her chin and looks him dead in the eye, refusing to be intimidated. Yet as she stares into the monster's cruel amber gaze, every instinct in her body screams at her to _run_ , to flee before the beasts of the night and their thirst for blood.

"Well look at what we've got here, everyone. A little girly, and her pet runt." He leers over them. "What do you think we should do with them?"

The werewolves shout out suggestions, most involving some form of "eat" or "kill". "Shut up!" he roars. " _I_ make the decisions here, _me,_ Giriko, your goddamn alpha. So shut the fuck up!"

Silence. He holds his murderous expression before relaxing and smiling. "That's better. Now." He takes a step closer, and Maka forces herself to stand still as he runs a single sharp tipped claw down her cheek. "This one. Feisty, aren't you girly? That's good. Feisty ones are always fun to break."

"She's more than that," one of the werewolves pipes up. "Found silver on her. And salt."

"Hunter," Giriko growls, and Maka lifts her chin higher. "Even better. Hunters can take a lot of torture before they croak - and we especially like using the brand on them, don't we?"

He laughs, and shoves her down to the concrete. She glares up at him, masking her terror with sheer hatred. Giriko snorts, and pays her no mind.

"Now," he says, turning to Black*Star. "Seems we have another wolf in our territory. If you could even call this pathetic excuse for a predator a _werewolf_." He kicks him, smashing Black*Star to the ground. "Nah, this one looks more like a runt to me. Bet he don't even have his baby fangs out, am I right?"

"Least I have fangs," Black*Star spits out. "You're just a pathetic piece of shit that has to have me tied up and your pack surrounding you to face me!"

Giriko cackles. "So the runt speaks!" His foot lashes out, heel grinding into Black*Star's chest as he puts weight on it. "Listen, you son of a fucking bitch, you're nothing, you understand me?! I could rip your throat out in a single bite and not even blink an eye. I could force you to eat your own hand over and over again until you beg me to stop, to please put you out of your fucking misery -"

"Giriko."

Almost instantly, his expression changes, fangs disappearing and murderous glare in his eyes fading. He takes his foot off of Black*Star, turns to Wes and bows. "My queen," he says reverently.

Wes stands, posture regal, surveying the scene. "Who are these that you've brought me? Ah, no, wait -" Arachne steps closer. "I recognize you. Little Maka, Soul's errant girl-partner." She glances around. "And where is my troublesome little brother? I can't seem to sense him, but if you're here, he can't be far away."

"He left me," she snarls, tamping down on the rush of fear. "He was - he was sick of getting hurt in my place. Of me."

Arachne turns to her, blinks, and then bursts out laughing. "How gullible do you think me to be? No, he's around here somewhere. Spread out," she orders the werewolves. "Find him. He is leashed to her, his one weakness – be quick about it, and _do not harm him_."

"Should we kill her?" Giriko asks, leering over Maka.

"No, no." She waves a hand. "She'll be good bait. Soul cannot resist coming after her, no matter how dangerous the situation. And who is this?" she asks, looking at Black*Star.

"A runt. Found him sniffing around the carnival with the girl." Giriko aims a kick at Black*Star's side. "Figured we'd rough him up, teach him a lesson before slitting his throat."

"Wait," Arachne says, tilting her head. "I recognize that brand." She bends, ignoring Black*Star's struggles, and carefully rolls up his sleeve. "Could it be?" she breathes, tracing her fingers over the scarred star on his shoulder. "One of the Star Pack yet lives?" She straightens, snaps her fingers. "Release him," she demands. "I won't have one of my children tied up like an animal."

The two werewolves closest to Black*Star exchange hesitant glances, but obey.

Black*Star gets to his feet, rubbing at his wrists. He bends to massage his ankles, but suddenly leaps forward, teeth bared, aiming for Wes’s neck.

Giriko's arm flashes out faster than Maka can see, and Black*Star comes to a crashing halt. He lifts him in the air by the throat before slamming him down, and the sound of his jaw cracking off of the concrete echoes throughout the room.

"Black*Star!"

He's already moving, springing upwards. He swipes at Giriko, catching him across the arm. The air whistles with the force of his answering strike. Black*Star dodges it, and jumps, planting both of his feet into the bigger werewolf's chest, causing him to stumble backwards. He ducks Giriko's attempt to behead him, then retaliates with a punch to the temple. The alpha drops to a knee, and Black*Star gives a triumphant grin as he gears up for another kick.

But one of the werewolves latches onto his arm, and another onto his leg. Black*Star flails, lashing out with his free limbs. He elbows one in the nose, making her howl in pain, and smashes his heel down onto the other's back, but they both hold on grimly. Giriko straightens up, extending his claws, and grins before digging them into Black*Star's stomach.

Black*Star doesn't give more than a grunt, but slouches over. "What's the matter, runt?" Giriko jeers as he twists. "Can't handle playing with the big leagues?"

What follows is one of the most painful things Maka's ever witnessed. The werewolves have no mercy; they seem to take pleasure in the fact that Black*Star heals fast, slicing open another wound on top of ones beginning to heal. The sound of snapping jaws and low growls reverberate off of the walls. Light flashes off fangs and claws as they savage his skin, and the ground beneath Black*Star darkens with blood. Bile rises in her throat, burning, and she wants desperately to turn away, to block it out, but she feels obligated to watch, to continue to bear witness to his punishment.

Finally, Arachne says, "Stop," and his tormentors back off reluctantly, teeth still bared.

Black*Star's curled up on the ground, breathing heavily and stiller than Maka's ever seen him. Even as she watches, the gashes have begun to seal back together, bite marks fading from view, but she knows that his healing does nothing for his pain.

"Oh my poor little werewolf," Arachne says, stroking Black*Star's jaw. "Your family was one of my greatest packs, you know. Devout to a fault. Why do you stay with these hunters who look at you with such derision and suspicion, when you know yourself to be far superior?"

"Maybe," he spits, still trying to catch his breath, "I like…not being…part of a literal circus act…and being told what to do…by a fucking nineties boy band reject."

"I see." Arachne clicks her tongue. "It seems as though our puppy needs to be reminded of who he truly is. Bring the human."

One of the werewolves disappears through a door. The sound of moaning gets louder, and the missing man twists against his werewolf captor as he's dragged into the room. He desperately tries to yank his wrists out of its grip, making the werewolf yawn as she shoves him forward.

"No," the man sobs, "please, no -"

The werewolf slaps him, almost lazily, across the jaw, and the man quiets, whimpering.

"Leave him alone!" Maka shouts, rage temporarily overriding her fear, and the cuffs strain as she tries to fight, punch, do _anything_ except sit there uselessly. No one even bothers to look at her, and she redoubles her efforts to free herself, fingers trembling as she fumbles with her lockpicks.

"Come, puppy," Arachne croons, beckoning Black*Star closer. "It's time to eat."

Giriko's long claws press against the man's shirt, easily parting the cloth. His bare chest gleams with sweat, heaving, and the man's eyes rove in their sockets. Giriko makes a shallow slice, just enough to draw blood, and the man screams before going limp.

"Take a bite," Arachne encourages Black*Star. "I know you're hungry. You can hear it, can you not? The sweet rush of blood through his veins, the pumping of his heart. Smell the stink of his fear, my little werewolf? It makes the meat all the sweeter."

"No," Black*Star breathes, shakily, but his eyes are fixed on the trickle of crimson blood. His fingers flex, and he licks his lips. " _No_ ," he says again, more to himself.

"Aren't you sick of animal hearts?" Arachne asks. "Sick of how tasteless they are, how you eat and eat but can never feel full? You've tried so hard, done everything you could to be the human they want you to be, but still hunters think you better off with a silver knife to your breast."

"They're my family," Black*Star murmurs. He swallows thickly, nostrils flaring. "I…I can't-"

" _I’m_ your family now," Arachne says, and there's a terrible crunching sound as Giriko tears into the victim's chest. Maka's outraged cry dies in her throat as he draws his hand back, and she can see Black*Star's eyes zero in on the bloody heart in his hand. He brings the heart closer…and closer…

"Don't," Maka whispers, then yells, "Black*Star, _don't_ -"

But Black*Star can't hear her, and it's with horror that she sees his fangs sink into the heart.

* * *

"How wonderful!" Arachne exclaims over the sound of tearing and chewing. She claps her hands in delight. "Do you see, Giriko? None of my children can resist the call in their blood, even one that has been chained and brought to heel by hunters."

"Guess so," he grumbles, eyeing Black*Star's dripping mouth and bloodied hands. "He's still better off dead, if you ask me. What could a runt like that have to offer us?"

"No, Giriko," Arachne says sternly. "It isn't his fault that his family was slaughtered by hunters, that he was indoctrinated into their cult of murderers. How could a werewolf grow to his full potential on only animal hearts alone? No, he is young still, and his blood is pure and strong - take him under your wing, teach him, nourish him, and I know we will not be disappointed."

He grunts, looking dissatisfied. Arachne places a hand on his shoulder, strokes his jaw, and finally he sighs, resistance slumping out of him. "As you wish, my queen," he mutters.

"Good boy," she says, patting his cheek.

A long howl cuts through the room, and Maka shivers at the eerie, high-pitched sound. Giriko gives a jagged grin, eyes glittering. “They’ve found him.”

“Delightful,” Arachne purrs. “Two beautiful family reunions in one night. What an auspicious day.” She looks to Black*Star, who savages the remainder of the heart with his fangs. "Is there another sacrifice for me? Our new member could use the fattening up."

Giriko shakes his head. "Took that one only about three days ago. Too soon to get another. And if there're hunters sniffing around, then we should get a move on. Speaking of which…"

They turn to look at Maka, and she forces her hands to still as they eye her.

"Interesting idea," Arachne says, smiling. "What better prey than a hunter?" She approaches Maka, saying, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, my dear, but you’ve outlived your usefulness to me.” She bends, runs Wes’s long tapered fingers along Maka's cheek. “Don’t worry,” she breathes. “Perhaps Soul will come just in time to hear your screams…”

Maka hisses, snaps at his hand, but Arachne merely chuckles and uses the other to grip her jaw and force her to stay still. Her fingers continue downwards, tracing down her neck and come to rest slightly below her collarbones, in the center of her sternum. She tries not to whimper as she digs her nails into her soft flesh.

His hands come away bloody, and Wes’s tongue licks away a droplet from his finger. The room is quiet, and Maka looks up to see Black*Star staring, slitted eyes trained on her chest. "Black*Star," Arachne calls softly. "Come have some dessert."

Black*Star advances. "No, Black*Star," Maka pleads, wriggling backwards. "You don't want to do this -"

But Black*Star doesn't seem to hear her, doesn't even seem to see any part of her that isn't the heart beating frantically in her chest. He crouches, leans forward, mouth opening…

She whips him in the face with her unshackled cuffs. He yelps in surprise, tipping backwards as she fumbles with the chains on her legs. A click, and Maka is up and sprinting, leaving the blood and death and monsters behind.

Laughter follows her. “Remember, Black*Star," she can hear Arachne say, "it's always better when they run…"

She has no weapons, no silver, nothing to fight back with. She runs down the hallways, following exit signs until she bursts out into the cold winter air. It's dark now, the fairgrounds deserted, and she briefly reorients herself before dashing in the direction of the games booth.

She can hear Black*Star surge after her, his erratic leaping so unlike the steady, even pace he used to set when they would run together in the mornings. Her breath comes short and quick, the pounding of her heart urging her on, faster. There's a stitch in her side but she can't stop, can't let him catch up to her. She darts down the narrow spaces between food stalls, skids between booths, ducks underneath rides, but Black*Star is not so easily shaken off.

She's ten feet away from the rope ladders when he hits her from behind, knocking her down to the ground. Pain explodes between her shoulder blades, but she fights it, twisting. Her foot sinks into his stomach, and he huffs, doubling over. She scrabbles to her feet, running before she gains her balance.

Where is - there, the gun booth! She vaults over the counter, breaks the lock on the cabinet with one kick of her heel, and grabs the gun within.

Suddenly she's on her back, Black*Star's gnashing teeth inches away from her face, stopped only by the barrel of the gun. He strains against it, hot breath stinking of blood and flesh, slitted eyes glazed with hunger. Claws rip through her shirt, and she cries out as pain lances through her forearm. He falters, and that's all she needs to shove him off her and smashes the silver-coated butt of the gun into his face.

There's a crunch, and Maka grinds down as his flesh sizzles and smokes. Black*Star howls in pain, falling back and clutching his nose. She crawls towards the back exit, hands searching for something to grab and pull herself up on. Claws close around her ankle, dragging her backwards, and she flails, trying to catch him with her foot -

A shot rings out above her, and she lurches forward as she's let go. Somebody grabs her, hoisting her up, and Soul's there, steadying her against him. She nearly sobs in relief, leaning heavily into his shoulder.

"Maka," he's saying, hands coming up to hold her, "Maka, what happened -" He cuts himself off, staring at the shadows. "Black*Star?" he gasps.

Maka grabs the gun from Soul's hand. "Not anymore," she says grimly, and aims. The bullet pierces Black*Star's thigh, and he falls over, clutching his leg.

"Hey hey _hey,_ what are you doing?!" Soul asks, grabbing her arm as she points it at Black*Star's heart.

"What does it look like?" Maka says, shoving him away. The barrel trembles, and she grabs it with her other hand to stop it from shaking.

"We're not going to just _murder_ him!" Soul says, heated. "He's - he's your childhood friend!"

"He nearly killed me! He ate a human heart! That's not - that's not Black*Star anymore." The ghost of her mother's hands come to steady her, to coax her to pull the trigger, and she takes a deep breath -

Soul shoves the gun away, and the bullet embeds itself into the counter. "God dammit, Soul, stop it!"

" _No!_ Fuck that! I don't know what happened, but I'm _not_ letting you fucking execute him!"

"You don't understand! We were only safe because he had never fed, never had a human heart!" More of Mama's words spill from her lips as she wrestles with Soul for control of the gun. "Once they eat, they can never go back, the urge is too strong, he'll kill and kill and -"

"Maka."

They stop, look over at the werewolf on the ground. Maka watches as Black*Star swallows, says again. "Maka." Blue-green eyes meet hers, pupils round and dilated in the dark.

Her grip loosens. "Bl-Black*Star?" she whispers, lowering the gun.

A long howl rolls down the way, rattling the stands. More voices join it, wavering up and down, and both Soul and Maka cast around wildly for the sources.

"Fuck, not again,” Soul swears, gripping her shoulder. “We need to get out of here, there's too many of them. Black*Star -"

But when they turn back, only the dark stain of blood occupies the corner he was crouched in.

"Black*Star!" Maka calls, but Black*Star is gone, and soon, so are they.

* * *

She's running through an endless dark basement. Doors flap open and shut ahead of her, their slamming sounding more like laughter as she sprints past. Scales scrape on wood behind her, and venom sprays on her back, searing hot, but she doesn't stop, can't stop, or she'll never see Mama and Papa again...

At the end of the hall, she can see the carousel lights strobing out, hear the laughter of the children as they go around and around, and she puts on an extra burst of speed. "Black*Star," she sobs, "Black*Star, help," and his eight-year-old silhouette is there, hand reaching for hers.

She takes it. His hand is warm in hers as he pulls her closer - then spins her around, binding her arms behind her back. The monster slithers closer and closer, eyes a burning green lantern in the darkness. Maka squeals, kicking, but it gets closer and closer, but it's not a monster, it's Black*Star, his jaws coming up to rip her throat out -

"Maka." Someone's pulling at her. "Maka, wake up."

She shakes her head, curling into herself, but Soul's not easily deterred. "Maka, come on, we have to treat your wounds."

He helps her with her clothing, tossing the shredded, blood soaked jacket away. "Where?" he asks, and she vaguely indicates her back and arm. He peels off her shirt and carefully unhooks her bra, averting his eyes as she discards of it. He disappears into the bathroom as she settles down on top of the comforter.

She's nearly drifted back to sleep by the time he comes back. The first gentle touch of the damp towel to her back has her hissing, flinching away from the pain. "Stay still," he orders her sternly, before going back at it.

She squirms as he washes away caked blood and dirt, each warm swipe sending fire down her nerves. "The cuts are pretty shallow, and thin," he says. "I think they just need to be washed and bandaged up. Let me see your arm."

She shifts, holds it out for him. "I don't think you'll need stitches for this either," he says, running his fingers alongside her wound. "You got lucky."

She bobs her head, and he resumes his ministrations. "What happened?" he asks. "I got your text and ran over to the tents, but couldn't find you in the crowd - then there were werewolves everywhere, I only barely got away…"

"Yeah," she sighs. "Black*Star caught on to them when we saw them in one of the shows, but they got to us first…hauled us to the haunted house…"

He begins to rub antibiotic gel into her back, and the long soothing strokes of his palm help ease the pain of remembrance. "A pack of them," she murmurs. "The leader…Giriko. And then…Arachne showed up."

The rubbing stops. "Wes?" Soul asks carefully.

"Mmhm." A pause, and Soul resumes massaging her back. "She wouldn't let them kill me at first," she says. "Wanted to use me as bait for you. But Black*Star…Arachne recognized his tattoo. The one that his pack gave him, his star." She takes a deep breath. "She made them free him, and he tried - tried to fight back but…"

She covers her face with her hands, tries to block out the smell of blood, the echoes of snapping jaws, the memory of Black*Star's labored breathing. "It was…it was awful, Soul. They beat him nearly half to death, over and over again, but he can't - he heals so quickly, and they _knew_ that and - and they -"

She chokes back a sob. Soul makes a distressed sound, hands coming up to cradle her face. His fingers are warm against her damp cheeks. She takes a deep breath, grounding herself in his touch, and says, "They brought in the victim, the missing man. He was sobbing, begging and they just - they sliced him open, took out his heart. Arachne kept saying things to Black*Star, and he was trying to stop, trying fight it, but he c-couldn't…"

"He ate it," Soul finishes for her.

Maka nods, wiping her tears away. "Y-yeah. They were going to have him eat me too, but I was able to free myself, and…well, you know."

His fingers brush against her cheek one last time before he sits back and begins to bandage up her back.

"Mama always told me," she says distantly, "that if a werewolf ate a human heart they could never go back to eating animal hearts again. She said that if…if that happened, I had to be responsible. I had to make sure he didn't hurt anyone else. But Black*Star…I don't know." She looks down at the razor thin slices sweeping across her forearm. "He clawed me up bad, Soul. But…he said my name. Do you think that means something?"

"I don't know, Maka."

"I guess it doesn't matter. Mama would…Mama would say that it doesn't matter." She sighs as Soul finishes taping up her back and hands her a black tank top. "I wonder if he went back to Arachne and Giriko," she mumbles as she pulls it over her head.

Soul shakes his head as he helps her sit up. "No, he didn't."

She blinks at him. "What?"

Soul's frowning down at her arm, turning it gently this way and that way. "He's here. His truck's parked out front."

"What?" she repeats, alarmed. She snatches her arm back. "He's - he's here?!"

She jumps to her feet, ignoring Soul's outraged squawk. "Maka, your arm!" he cries as she makes for the door.

She grabs Black*Star's spare motel key from the side table. The black barrel of the gun drags her eyes to it, and she hesitates. It's heavy in her hands, heavier than she can ever remember it being before.

"Maka, no -"

"I have to do this," she says, looking him in the eye. "I have to."

Something in his face stutters, and he looks away, swallowing hard. "I…" he begins, then stops, hand coming up to run along the points of his teeth.

He doesn't say anything more, and she wants to run to him, to take his hands and wait for him to talk to her, to spill his fears into the space between them. But the gun's weight pulls at her, and she has to turn away - has to go, and do her duty.

* * *

It's dark in the room, and Maka takes a minute to let her eyes adjust. The outside light spills in, revealing splintered furniture, flipped mattresses, a hurricane of shredded clothes flung everywhere. She takes a deep breath, grips the handle of her gun tighter, and eases further in, flipping on the lights as she closes the door behind her.

Black*Star is crumpled against the bed, head cradled in his hands. His darkly tanned skin is unbroken, and even his face has healed already, with only old scars marring his jaw. His shirt is stained dark with blood, more of it caked in his scruffy beard.

He doesn't stir as she approaches him, but his fingers tighten around his scalp. In all her life, Maka has never seen him - her first, and, for a long time, only, friend - so despondent.

"Black*Star?" she ventures.

"You should have just killed me," Black*Star mutters. He looks up at her, eyes rimmed with red. "Other hunters would have. Your mom would have. I…I would have."

"I'm not my mom," she snaps, then grimaces. The gun hangs loosely in her hand as she tries to say, "Black*Star, you…you scared me. And you hurt me, but you didn't kill me, and…it was against your will. You didn't -"

"It doesn't matter!" Black*Star launches himself off the floor, taking a limping step towards her. Maka can't help it - she flinches at his sudden movement, and there's an awful sort of vindication in his eyes. "I ate a human heart, Maka! I'm no better than a monster, and I never have been, and you're the only one stupid enough not to realize it!"

He raises an arm, light glinting off of wickedly sharp claws. This time, though, Maka stands her ground, staring him down as he snarls at her. "I attacked you!" he rails. "I couldn't - I didn't even - I would have -" Words fail him and he howls instead, pure misery and anger that sends shivers up Maka's spine.

He strikes at the desk, sinking his claws into it. "You don't understand," he says lowly. "It was…delicious. And it felt so…so right. I never realized how hungry I was, how _empty_ , until I finally found something that touched it, that made me feel _full_." His hands tremble as he withdraws them from the wood, brings them up to fist in his hair. "I can't stop thinking about it," he mumbles, tearing at the blue tufts. "I can hear them now, everywhere, beating, calling me -"

"Black*Star -" she tries, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" he yells, shoving her away. "Don't touch me. Not - not right now." He takes a deep breath, then turns to her. His eyes flicker down to her hands, at the weapon she clutches tightly.

"Your mama was right," he says. His hand closes around her wrist and he pulls, bringing the gun to rest against his chest. "I understand now, why she made you carry that knife around anytime we played together. It's - it's too much. I'm not…I can't, Maka."

He holds her hand there, eyes begging. The metal of the gun is cold in her hands, slippery with her sweat. The barrel rises and falls with his breathing, and she can feel the pulsing of his heart transmitted through it, matching her own.

"Do you remember when we were eight?" Maka asks slowly. "When we decided we'd show our parents that we were ready to be hunters? Do you remember when we found the monster?

"I was terrified, Black*Star. I was sure we were going to die. You were too, even though you never told me. We had the opportunity to run, and I wanted to, so badly, but do you remember what you told me?"

"That was when we were kids, Maka, it's different now-"

"You said," she interrupts, "you said that we had to be brave. That if we ran now, it'd get away, and our parents wouldn't be able to kill it. That if we didn't do something, it'd kill again."

"And that's exactly what's happening here! If you don't -"

" _No_. You're stronger than that. I know you are." She reaches for his hand, runs her thumb against the silver scar on his palm.

His mouth trembles. "But I already - I ate…and they said…"

"Who cares what they said? Black*Star, I've been looking up to you for as long as I can remember. I know you, better than them, better than Mama. You've beaten every expectation they've ever had, and this won't be an exception."

He's shaking his head, biting out, "Maka, don't be _stupid_ \- you _know_ -"

"Fine," she snaps, patience spent. "If you want to die so badly, here." She shoves her pistol with the silver bullets into his hands, lets go. "Do it yourself, if you're so desperate. But I won't. I refuse."

 

She makes to leave, reaches for the doorknob, but stops and turns back. He's still standing there, looking at the gun in his hands. "When you were five, you said you were a god among men," she says quietly. "You said that you'd be the best hunter the world's ever seen. Well, Black*Star, I - I challenge you. Prove it."

He doesn't say anything, turning the gun over and over, and the shadows come to cover his face as she closes the door.

* * *

The moon is a grinning sliver in the sky. Maka watches it, hunched over at the small table near the door, gnawing on her knuckles and playing with the edge of the bandage on her arm. There's some sort of party, or sex, or both, going on a couple of rooms down, and she's been listening to their obnoxious laughter and moans for the past three hours now. She can hear the cars speeding by on the highway behind the motel, and the sounds of crickets and insects beating their wings against the dingy lamps outside, and Soul's soft mumbling in his sleep as he tosses and turns. The room next to hers is silent, has been since she left it five hours ago.

There's a knock at the door, and she jumps to answer it.

"Hey Maks."

"Star," she whispers.

Her oldest friend gives her a weak smile. His hands are carefully tucked behind his back, just like when he used to ask Mama if he could go with Maka and practice shooting cans. "Hey," he says again, voice quieter than she's ever heard him.

There's an awkward silence, broken only by a crowd of people screaming " _SO NO ONE TOLD YOU LIFE WAS GONNA BE THIS WAY_ " and very discordant, off-tempo clapping down the hall. They exchange an incredulous glance, and Black*Star's mouth twitches before they burst out into quiet laughter.

"Tell me about it, man," Black*Star says, then sobers. "Listen, Maka, I just…wanted to say that…well." He clears his throat, looks away. "Thanks. For, uh, hunting with me. And…you know."

Maka looks up at the sky, stars washed out by the brightness of the moon and the too-white parking lot lights. "…I really didn't plan on ever getting a partner," she says. "After what happened with Mama, I just…didn't think it would be a good idea." She sighs. "And then, on my second solo job, I almost get myself and this sarcastic, punk-ass rich kid killed, and he demands I take him along to find the brother I couldn't save, and, well…" She can't help but smile. "He hasn't quit being a pain since."

She shakes her head. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that…it wasn't because of you that I told you no. It was because of me. It doesn't…it's never mattered to me, that you're a werewolf."

"I know," Black*Star says. "It's okay. I think…I need to do some solo hunting of my own right now. Away from…people."

"What's going on?" Soul shuffles into the doorway, yawning. "Leaving without saying goodbye? Thought we were friends, man."

Black*Star grins at Soul. "Not my fault you go to bed before midnight, grandpa. Was planning on waking you though, wouldn't want you to miss the opportunity to see your best bro off."

Soul gives him a bright smile. "Where are you off to next?" he asks.

Black*Star shakes his head. "Not sure yet. Think I'll head west, it's been a while since I've been out there."

"Well," Soul says, "if you ever need a hand, just let us know. Right, Maka?"

She nods firmly. "You know we're always there for you, Black*Star," she says, and is rewarded with the ghost of his old grin.

She goes to hug him, but he hastily backs away. "Ah - no," he says, nostrils flaring. "I, uh, haven't showered since the, um, incident." He looks away, swallowing hard.

Maka lets her arms drop, and Soul steps in, holding out his fist.

Black*Star gives him a grateful smile and bumps it with his own. "See you around," he says, and turns. He doesn't look back.

Maka stands in the doorway, watching the road long after Black*Star's truck has blended into the darkness.


	3. the wish

_Tap tap tap!_

The rapid knocking at the door rouses Soul from a dreamless sleep. He buries himself deeper into the covers. "G'way," he mutters.

_Tap tap tap tap!_

Soul squeezes his eyes tighter in an attempt to lure sleep back to him. "Makaaaa, get the doooor."

No response. The lack of irritated reply or books being thrown at him makes him cautiously crack an eye open. Light from the setting sun weakly illuminates the room, and he blearily takes in the white bedsheets, dark wooden dresser, nice keyboard piano in the corner -

Wait, what?

He shakes his head, rubs at his eyes, but the keyboard is still there when he opens them. The sheets do not suddenly lose their thread count, the cherry wood furniture does not suddenly degenerate into scratched-up particle board.

Soul scrambles out of bed, mind whirling. What happened? Where is he? Why is he stripped down to boxers and an orange shirt? He tries to remember, but memories slide away from him like water through his fingers. If only that damned knocking would stop, maybe he could actually _think_.

The dresser drawer slides open noiselessly, and Soul grabs the first things that his hand comes into contact with. Whoever kidnapped him at least had decent fashion sense, he notes begrudgingly. Tan pants fit snugly around his hips, completing the bare minimum amount of clothing required for decency.

He creeps out of the room, down the hallway towards what he assumes is the front door. He catches movement out the corner of his eye, and he whips his head around. Someone is frowning at him, brown eyes narrowed and lip half-curled in threat, and it takes him a minute to realize he's looking at himself - or what he used to look like, white-blonde hair and blunt teeth and all.

What the _fuck?_

Dazed and not entirely sure he's not dreaming, Soul approaches the front door, still running his fingers over his dulled incisors. The rapping has turned into full-on banging at this point. "Soul!" someone yells from the other side of the door. "Soul, open this door or I'm -"

"I'm coming," Soul calls, reaching for the nearest weapon, which turns out to be a shoehorn. _Here's hoping whoever's on the other side isn't a threat,_ he thinks grimly as he opens the door.

Wes stands on the stoop, hand half raised to bang on the door again. Soul gapes, shoehorn clattering to the floor.

"Soul!" Wes exclaims, beaming. He opens his arms wide.

The door slams. Soul bolts for the kitchen, knocking over pots and pans as he tears open the cabinets. Half-eaten boxes of cereal and cups of instant ramen spill onto the floor, and he shoves aside glasses and plates, searching -

The front door's handle turns and Wes steps in, sighing. "Soul, we do this every time I come visit you -"

He sputters as salt is flung in his face. Soul's already pouring himself another handful, bringing his arm back to throw again.

"Okay, so this is new." Wes wipes his face delicately with the bottom of his shirt. Another spray of salt has him groaning. "Come on, Soul, you're not five anymore. These are new shoes, I'll have you know."

"You're - you're not -" Soul lowers his arm, gawking at his brother.

"I'm not what? Shriveling up? I'm not a slug, silly." Wes scrubs the last of the salt out of his hair. "Now, can I have a hug? I haven't seen you in weeks, and I missed my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother," Soul says automatically, then shakes his head. "What is going _on?"_ he whispers to himself.

Hands wrap around him and squeeze. "It's good to see you again, little brother," Wes says warmly. He holds him for a minute before letting go, smiling. "There, now was that so hard?"

Soul's eyes begin to fill with tears. "W-Wes," he chokes out.

"Yes?" He tilts his head. "What's wrong?"

He's nearly bowled over as Soul launches forward and engulfs him in a hug. He buries his face in his brother's shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of expensive cologne and rosin.

"Soul," Wes says, laughing a little as he steadies them. "Soul, what's wrong?" A few seconds later, and, "Are you _crying_?"

"…No," Soul says, sniffing.

"Baby brother," Wes says, more seriously. He attempts to pry Soul off of him, but he resists, clinging harder. "Is everything okay?" he asks, worry in his tone as he strokes his hair. "You haven't hugged me like this since you were six and afraid I was going to get eaten by the monsters in the closet."

Soul snorts wetly. He gives his brother one last squeeze before letting him go. "E-Everything's fine," he says, wiping his tears away. "Everything's - everything's good. It's just…it's been a while, since I've…since I've seen you."

Wes frowns, studying Soul. "If you're sure," he says eventually. "But if you want to talk about it, remember, your older brother is here for you."

"I know." Soul gives him a watery smile.

"All right then," Wes says, ruffling Soul's hair. "Hey, how about we go out for dinner? Balena? My treat."

"…Couldn't imagine anything better."

* * *

Wes surveys the menu, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth as he deliberates over his choice of entrée. Soul can't stop staring, marveling over at all the little things that he'd forgotten in his time away from Wes. The quirk of his lips when he thanks the waitress for seating them. How he arranges his silverware immediately after sitting down. The way he always swirls his water so he can hear the ice cubes clink against the glass.

"Soul, quit staring, it's rude," Wes says without looking up. "Do you know what you want?"

"Uh." Soul takes a precursory glance at the specials. His eyes slowly drift back to his brother's features.

"Soul." Wes closes his menu, looking annoyed. "Stop looking at me like I'm about to die. What is the matter with you today?"

"N-nothing!" Soul protests. "I was - I was just looking to see if you were ready to order."

Wes rolls his eyes, but lets it pass. "I'll get the Cabernet Sauvignon," he tells the waitress hovering next to him. "Soul?"

"Oh, uh, I'll have a Coors," Soul says absently, flipping through the pages to find the entrées.

He glances up when there's no answering response. Both Wes and the waitress stare at him with shocked expressions. "Um…if you don't have that, I'll take a Sam Adams instead," Soul offers.

"Ignore him, please, he's had a hard day," Wes says. "He'll have Cabernet as well. Could we get calamari for the table?"

The waitress nods before disappearing, and Wes leans across the table. "Since when do you drink _Coors_?" he asks, wrinkling his nose.

"Since…" Since he ran out on their parents and started living on poker game winnings and credit card scams. "Since whenever, you don't know me," he grumbles instead, pushing him away.

"Little brother, you definitely have the money to not subject yourself to an affront like this. And if you don't, please tell me so I can spare your poor taste buds."

"Whatever," Soul mutters, crossing his arms.

Their waitress comes back swiftly with their drinks. She gives him a smile when she hands his to him, and Soul savors both the taste of the wine and the fact that she isn't intimidated or put off by his appearance. "…Sooo," he begins casually. "I uh, haven't heard from Maka lately. Know where she might be?"

"Maka?" Wes frowns. "Who's that?"

Soul gives a little nervous laugh. "Come on, you know. Maka." A blank look. "Short, blonde hair in pigtails, could kick both of our asses without breaking a sweat?" Wes tilts his head. "My partner?" he says, a little desperately.

Wes’s eyes light up, and he leans forward. "You have a new girlfriend? One serious enough that you're telling _me_ about?" He shakes his head, grinning. "No wonder you've been so emotional, you big softie!"

"N-no, that's not -"

"Why didn't you tell me earlier? We could have invited her out too!" He takes out his phone, saying, "What's her number? I'll call right now and arrange to have her picked up -"

 "Wes! Stop!" Soul snatches his phone out of his hand. "…You really don't know Maka?"

Wes laughs. "Trust me, little brother, I would have remembered." He laces his hands in front of him, eyes wide. "Tell me _everything_. How did you meet? How long have you been together? What does she do, where does she live?" He lowers his voice. "Have you played for her?"

Soul stares at his wine, dark liquid reflecting his troubled expression. "…I wish I knew."

* * *

" _We're sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnect -"_

Soul slams the phone down, cutting off the woman's automated voice. Four phone numbers, all disconnected, and he's run out of digits to dial.

He rubs at his smooth chest, skin unpuckered by scars, muscles soft underneath his uncalloused fingers, and flops back on the bed. _His_ bed, Wes had explained to him over dinner, his bed in his apartment, in Chicago, the city he's made a career in as a recording engineer.

A city and a job that, apparently, Maka was completely absent from. His phone had no contact information on her, and careful inspection of any documents and pictures he had in his sparsely decorated apartment revealed no mention of his partner. He swallows against the rising fear, the panic that threatens to flood him at the thought of where she might be, what this all might mean…

He knows he's missing something. He knows the answer is there, somewhere, in his mind. He can feel it, the way his thoughts slide over the blank areas, can hear the skipping of the record when he tries to replay his last memories before he woke up. And he knows - he knows that if he just focused, forced himself to remember -

His phone buzzes. _Go to sleep Soul!_ Wes’s cheerful text reads. _We're having breakfast at 7 am sharp tomorrow. Don't make me bang down your door again!_ He rolls his eyes at the string of excited and pouting emojis that follow.

It _is_ getting late, Soul decides, looking at the time on his phone. He sinks further into the soft mattress, rubs his face against the smooth fluffy pillow. Wes said he'd be in town for the next week, and Soul finds himself really looking forward to having his brother around. He's pretty sure he can get the time off of work…Clay might be upset, but he's covered for his ass more than enough times to make up for it. Where are they going to go for breakfast? Wes actually liked the pancakes at Wildberry’s last time he visited…

Stars falling across a moonless sky. Razor thin scars etched along a back. A bright grin and a cocky smile, both showing more teeth than necessary. Broken bars and cracked concrete and blue -

The pale blue of Wes’s eyes, the teasing tone in his voice, the feeling of his hands ruffling his hair. His mother, his father, embracing him warmly, Thanksgiving dinner set on the table. Black and white keys smooth against his fingers as he lets loose the swirling chaos inside -

Cruel red eyes, knife-like nose, lips curled with disgust. "Don't be an idiot, Soul," Oni sneers. "Stop running away. Right the wrong."

Strands of ash blonde hair flowing through his fingers like water. Green eyes flaring with courage and will. Warm hands in his, rough calluses and chewed-off nails. _I'm not letting you go. I'm_ never _letting you go -_

"Wake up. You must right the wrong. _Right the wrong -_ "

Soul jolts awake, gasping. He untangles himself from twisted sheets, trips out of bed and collapses into his desk chair. The bright light of the lamp makes his eyes hurt, but he can't risk falling asleep again, can't risk losing himself to the soothing life he's built here.

_Think_ , he tells himself fiercely. His mind balks, and he forces it further. _Where is Maka? What happened yesterday?_

Slowly, reluctantly, his memories unclench, unfurling little by little, and he remembers:

Another bedroom, in another town. Maka sitting on the edge of the bed, her button-down flannel worn backwards so he could see the pale expanse of her back. Running his fingers down the still-healing wounds that mar it. Maka squirming under his touch, complaining, "that stings, Soul, stop it," and his retort - "stay still, Maka, they need more gel to keep out infection." Rubbing it slowly and thoroughly into her warm skin, fingers tingling at the contact. Maka sighing with pleasure despite her previous objections. Feeling the fluttering in his throat, swallowing hard before removing his hands and bandaging her back up.

Maka's phone ringing and breaking the moment. Watching her face as she answers it, eyebrows drawn together, nodding. Hanging up, looking at him, saying, "That was Liz and Patty, calling about the symbol I sent a month ago…"

Driving in the dark. Maka peering out the windshield, watching the road. A small gasp, the slowing of the jeep, as she pulls over - a whispered "come on" and being tugged out of the car, onto the roof. The velvety night sky stretching around them, impossibly dense with pinpricks of light, and then movement as one streaks to the earth below. Maka murmuring in his ear, "Geminids meteor shower," her pigtails tickling his nose, her body warm against his.

Opening his mouth, reminding himself, _no more secrets._ Feeling the words on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out into the space between them, to echo the wonder in her eyes with the wonder and love he feels for her.

Faltering. Closing his mouth. Looking away, guilt prickling his heart, because it's already December -

Maka saying, "Make a wish," and Soul…Soul wishing…

New Mexico. Santa Fe. The moon hiding behind clouds, wind whipping up dust into their eyes and throats. Liz and Patty leaning against their Challenger, giving them a lazy wave. Lathering them up with some form of herbal mixture, "to keep the vamps from smelling you," arming themselves with dead man's blood and blades. Vaulting over sagging gates, easing through creaking cell doors, finding nothing, and more nothing…

And then - Liz missing. Calling for her softly, then louder as fear of discovery lessens in comparison to the worry. Then, no Maka. Panic gripping his heart as he searches. Turning around to find Patty's disappeared. Then finally, someone appearing in front of him, familiar blue patterns writhing up their arms and face as their hands clamp down on his jaw -

"Fuck," Soul says softly, giving voice to the suspicions he had so desperately tried to ignore. "A djinn."

He fumbles for his phone, dials a number that he doesn't _know_ but his fingers automatically tap out.

"It's one in the morning, Soul."

"Sorry, sorry," he says. "I just - I needed to ask you something."

Wes yawns. "And this couldn't wait another six hours?"

"No." He hesitates, then plunges forward. "Do you remember - the summer before I started senior year, you came to visit me back home, after playing in Chicago. You - you brought me back a keychain."

"Mmm, yes, I think so. Why?"

"What - what did we do? Did we…did we go explore an abandoned train station together?"

"A train station…" Wes hums. "Oh, the one in Buffalo? Yeah, that was a bit of a creepy place, wasn't it?"

"…And? Did anything happen? Did anyone - was anyone else there?"

"No?" Wes says, confused. "It was just us. We looked around for a little bit, took some pictures, and then drove back home. Why?"

Soul blows out a breath. "Nothing. No reason. I just - I was just making sure."

"…Okay. Well, I'm going back to sleep. You better be up by the time I get there -"

"I will, I will," Soul says, before hanging up.

Well. That explained that, then. No djinn, no Wes being kidnapped. No missing brother, no Maka. No Maka, no dropping out of school, no cavorting across America in an old, beat up jeep - no deal, no Medusa, no Arachne -

_No going to hell_ , something whispers in his mind. _No guilt over abandoning your brother, over leaving your partner. No fear over making another mistake, over everyone you love dying by your hand -_

Soul shakes his head vigorously, dislodging the sweet promises of safety and happiness. "Okay, Soul," he says aloud. "You're stuck in an alternate reality…dream…hallucination thing, where Wes never got taken or possessed, where you never met Maka, and where you never traded your soul for freaky powers. You've got no weapons, no resources, no actual knowledge of how to work your way out of this mess. Not to mention that right now you're probably strung up being drained of your blood, and neither Wes nor Maka are going to come save you this time."

He closes his eyes. "In short, you're totally fucked."

Stop. Take a deep breath. Okay. First things first, Maka would say, flicking his forehead. Gather the facts. What do we know about djinn and dreams?

He and Maka had poured over any scrap of lore that even remotely mentioned djinn in their first few months together, had interrogated Stein on the monsters, their habits, their powers. But time and time again they had come up with very little beyond what Maka had already known: that they were rare, that they fed on human blood and could be killed by a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood, that their touch was a slow acting poison. Experiences such as Soul's were almost unheard of; most victims perished from loss of blood, or just…never woke up. They had theorized that Soul had simply gotten lucky - that the djinn hadn't expected Wes to be there, hadn't had the time to fully infect him.

He sighs, slumping over. Research and theories had never been his strong suit; he had mostly left that up to Maka, trusting her intelligence and his instincts to keep them safe. _Right the wrong,_ Oni had said, and at this moment Soul could not have felt more wrong without having her by his side.

So then, first order of business: finding Maka. Maka, who was still probably hunting her way through small towns and country roads, without him.

He growls in frustration, letting his head hit the desk with a thump. She could be anywhere, be doing anything. She could…she could even be dead. All of her near misses run through his mind - every time he'd shoved her out of the way, or shot at a monster before it clawed her to pieces, or stopped her from doing something stupid like running onto a redneck's property in the middle of the night. His thoughts slow down at one particular moment - claws slicing through her soft belly, her dulling green eyes, the plitting of blood on the car floor. If Soul hadn't made the deal…hadn't traded away his soul for her life…

It takes him three tries to type in _Waverly Nebraska Deaths_ into the search bar. He doesn't see any of her fake names among the obituaries, and nothing turns up in the local news stories, but it doesn't stop his hands from trembling, his heart from racing.

All right, calm down. Let's start under the assumption she's alive and kicking monster ass somewhere. How can he get a hold of her? Who would know where she is?

Oh - of course!

"Stein and Spirit's, Stein speaking."

"Hey, Stein, this is Soul. Listen, I'm trying to find Maka, but none of her phones are working. Do you know what job she's working?"

There's a long silence at the end of the line. "Who is this?" Stein asks finally.

"Uh, it's Soul, Maka's -" He stops mid-sentence. Stupid, _stupid_ , he's not Maka's partner in this…whatever this is, that's the whole point of him calling, idiot!

"Maka's friend," he says instead. "I'm a hunter too, we uh, worked a case together not too long ago."

"Hm." There's a shuffling of papers on the other end. "Who did you say you were? Soul? I don't recognize your name."

"Uh, yeah, I haven't been hunting long. Yeah. Didn't um, know anyone else did this kind of thing until I met Maka."

"And…what case did you meet her on?"

"Ghoul in Grand Forks, North Dakota," Soul replies, thinking back to the last normal monster they hunted before…all this crazy shit happened.

"Maka didn't mention anyone else on that, and she always works alone," Stein says doubtfully, and Soul sags in relief at the use of present tense.

"Yeah well, I, uh, was hunting it first!" he says quickly. "But like I said, I haven't been doing this for very long, and she kinda had to save me, hah…anyway, where is she now?"

"Last I heard, she was heading towards Illinois to take on a potential spirit. What did you need her for?"

"I uh, think I have a djinn problem." He shifts to cradle the phone with his shoulder as he brings up Google Maps. "She mentioned that she had gone after one in the past so I was hoping I could get her help."

Stein makes a noncommittal noise. "Well, I don't think she is in possession of a working phone right now, but she's in Freeport, Illinois, unless she's finished the job and moved on."

"Great, thanks Stein."

The strange discordance between not _knowing_ where things are and already automatically reaching for them continues to plague him as he gathers the items he needs. He doesn't even know if he has a car, but he finds himself picking up keys nestled in a jar by the front door, finds his feet leading himself down to the garage.

He opens the door, flicks on the lights, and stops, jaw dropping. There, in gleaming orange, sits a Kawasaki Z650.

"Soul Evans, you magnificent bastard," he whispers to himself, reverently touching the chassis.

Suddenly, the two-hour drive to Freeport doesn't seem so long.

* * *

The cheapest motel in town is surprisingly well kept on the outside, and in less of a shady area than Soul expected. He pulls into the parking lot, does a slow lap around the place. His heart leaps at the sight of the old jeep, and he guides the motorcycle in next to it.

He knocks on the door. He waits a couple of minutes, then knocks again. No response.

Maybe she went to grab a Dr. Pepper from the vending machine. He sticks his hands in his pockets, tries to casually stroll by the snacking alcove, then by the front office, but no dice.

He knocks one last time, a little more insistently, but there's no sounds of movement on the other side, no patter of feet coming to check who it is.

All right then. He pulls out the shitty makeshift lockpicks he cobbled together at his apartment and gets to work. Lucky for him, the motel clearly did not invest enough money into security, because even with just a flattened paper clip and a bent screwdriver he hears a satisfying click not a minute later. _Still got it_ , he thinks smugly as he inches the door open.

He's so busy congratulating himself that he completely misses the person standing behind the door until he feels himself being pulled into a chokehold. He grapples with the assailant before letting himself go limp, then suddenly surges forward. Caught off guard, the grip around his neck slackens. He whirls around, blindly grabbing a wrist, and struggles to push them away.

The person steps back, and Soul releases his hold, panting. He's making a mental note to thank Maka for whipping his ass into shape when the lights flick on. Maka's fists are raised, and her eyes dart up and down his body before settling on his face. "Who are you?" she asks, voice low and menacing.

"Maka!" He drops his stance immediately, relieved smile spreading over his face. "Maka, thank god, it actually is you -"

Her eyes narrow. "How do you know my name?"

"Um…" Crap. What could he say that wouldn't sound crazy - or at least, not crazier than their usual stories. "Uh…"

"You better start talking fast," she says, tensing, "because I have very little patience for strange men breaking into my room."

"Okay, okay." Soul holds his hands out, trying to speak in a calming manner. "This is going to sound…really weird and strange, but, uh." He straightens. "My name is Soul Evans, and I'm your partner."

She blinks. "Not in this reality…hallucination…thing, obviously!" he rushes to say. "But uh, in the real world, we're partners, and I, uh…shit, how do I explain -"

"Wow," Maka marvels. "I knew monsters were stupid, but really? _Honestly?_ You're going with the partner angle? Why not pretend to be like, the pizza delivery guy or someone more plausible than a _partner_?"

"But I am!" Soul insists. "We - we met five years ago when a djinn took my brother. You said you'd let me tag along until we found him, but we didn't, and then I helped you with another case and you said we could be -"

"Yeah, listen," Maka says, hands creeping to where he knows she keeps her boot knife. "I don't know if you're a shapeshifter, or a demon, or something else entirely. But I suggest you either make a run for it or attack me while you can, because you made a very bad decision coming here, and it's about to get worse."

"Okay, one, why would I shift into or possess a random person you've never met," Soul snaps. "Two -" He takes out a silver butter knife and runs it along his palm, "- not hurt by silver." He holds up a vial of holy water he whipped up on the way and downs it. "Or holy water. So not a shapeshifter, or a demon, or a werewolf. Oh, and look." He pours some salt into his hand, holds it, even throws it up in the air so it sprinkles down into his hair. "Immune to salt too."

Maka pauses and regards him, eyes calculating. "You know your stuff at least," she says begrudgingly.

"You taught me all of it," he says quickly, seizing the opportunity. "You showed me how to behead vampires, how to salt and burn bodies - how to pick a lock and forge documents and make silver bullets. Well, with some help from Spirit and Stein…"

Surprise blooms on her face. "You know Stein and Papa?"

"Yes! How do you think I found you?" He runs a hand through his hair. "I know more about you than I do almost anyone else in this world…well maybe not in _this_ world but you know what I mean. You like puzzles and read textbooks for fun, you hate fish and liars and when people leave you…"

"Hmm," she says, watching him. She holds out a hand.

He goes to take it, heart leaping, and she draws away quickly. "The knife, stupid."

Soul hands it over, hopeful she doesn't notice his flush. She doesn't take her eyes off of him as she hefts the blade, testing its weight. "Hm."

That's when she brings it crashing on top of his head.

* * *

"God dammit Maka," he groans as he comes to.

Zipties are cinched tightly around his wrists, binding him to the chair. Across from him, Maka pauses in sharpening her knife and turns to look at him.

"You know, you can't just solve every problem with brute force," he snipes, testing his bonds.

"Worked for me so far." She goes back to tending to her blades. "Though maybe you're right in this case." _Skrrrrp_. "Not a demon. Not a shapeshifter. Not affected by silver, salt or iron."

"I proved all that to you already!"

She shrugs. "Could have been fake, or not pure. Holy water could have been just water. Had to make sure." _Skrrrrp_. "I'm tempted to kill you just to be certain -"

"You wouldn't kill me," Soul scoffs. "I'm clearly human -" at least in this reality, "- and you don't kill people."

"I don't?" Maka says, raising an eyebrow. "Why don't you look me in the eye and see if you want to risk it, pretty boy?"

Soul shifts his gaze from the knives to her face, and is met with a hard, flinty gaze. The green of her eyes is as cold and unyielding as jade, and his confidence ebbs away the longer she stares him down. He looks away.

"Anyway," she continues, looking back down at her weapons, "that motorcycle of yours outside looks pretty fancy, and I don't need anyone coming after me 'cause your handsome body was found in a dumpster somewhere." She holds the knife up, inspecting the edge. "So I figure, I'll just get what I can out of you, then leave you tied up here until someone comes looking for you. Oh, and thanks for the watch. I'm sure it'll fetch a pretty penny at the pawnshop."

She gets up, stretches, and advances, twirling a dagger between her fingers. "So, first question. What's your angle here? Clearly you've done enough research on me to know about Papa and Stein and some of the basics on what I like and don't like. Why claim to be something as dumb as my 'partner'?”

"We _are_ partners!" Soul shouts.

"I don't _do_ partners," she sneers. "Don't need -"

"What, you don't need someone to watch your back?" he throws back. "Don't need someone to force you to eat or sleep when you get too caught up in a case? Don't need someone to drive when you get tired, or to stop you from running headfirst into dangerous situations?"

Maka eyes him warily and says nothing.

"Fine," Soul says. "If you don't want to help me, whatever. I can do this myself." He stands up and sheds his bindings. "Good to see you're still shit at tying people up," he says, tossing her the cut zipties and stowing his pocket knife back into his sleeve. "Here's a tip - try patting down your victims instead of just assuming you can tie tight enough to stop people from cutting through."

"I _did_ pat you down," she snarls, holding her blade in front of her.

He rolls his eyes. "No you didn't, you just checked my pockets. I know, because I always have to go back and pick out the arsenal of weapons you don't find." He stalks to the door, grabbing his watch off of the table. "Good luck, Maka," he tosses over his shoulder. "Try not to die. And _don't_ take the rawhead job in Nebraska, you'll get killed and no one's going to be around to revive your ass this time."

Soul is halfway out the door before he hears a small voice say, "Wait."

He turns. Maka's glaring at him, mouth still a firm line, but there's uncertainty in her eyes. "If you're really my partner," she says, "then tell me why I don't want one in the first place."

Soul sighs, crosses his arms. "Your mom. She died on a case, one she took alone. You blame Spirit for not being there. You blame yourself for the same thing."

Maka’s expression screws up in anger, and she looks about to spit at him, to cover her feelings with shrieking denial.

But suddenly her face smooths, becoming impassive and unreadable, and all at once, he’s struck by how much this is not _his_ Maka – how his Maka wouldn’t know how to hide an emotion even if she wore a paper bag over her head.

She looks at him, seemingly calm, though he can just barely make out a glimmer of resentment in her eyes. "…What did you say about needing my help?"

* * *

"I remember that djinn," she says stiffly, looking at the ruins of the train station he's pulled up on his phone. "That was one of my first solo cases."

"In my reality, or in the real world, I guess, the djinn had already gotten me and Wes before you were able to find us," Soul says. "Well, he took me down first, but Wes found me and was able to partially snap me out of it. You uh, showed up not too much later and the djinn took Wes and fled."

Maka frowns. "No one was around when I got there, just the djinn. It wasn't easy, but I was able to kill it. Haven't run into one since."

"Neither had we," Soul says, sighing as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. "Until now, I guess."

"And you're saying that we became…partners afterwards? To find your brother?"

"Mmhm." He stifles a yawn. "Didn't know how to do anything at first, but I learn fast, or so you said."

"And we fight together? And live together? And have been doing that for…”

"Five - well, five and a half years now, I guess."

"Hm." She tugs absentmindedly on a strand of hair. "Yet your biggest wish was to have never met me."

"What? God, no," Soul says, taken aback. "Never. I'm pretty sure my wish was just to have never run into the djinn, because that's how Wes was taken and where everything started going downhill."

"What exactly has happened, in your reality?" she asks, sounding curious despite herself. "What's this about a rawhead that - that kills me?"

"Um." He shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah. That's…one half of our current problems." She's still looking at him, so he sighs, and says, "You died, and I uh, made a deal. To bring you back. But it had some…unforeseen consequences."

She squints at him, but he doesn't elaborate, and she doesn't ask. "…And that's only one half? What could the other half possibly be, the apocalypse?"

"No, thank god. Just a, uh, powerful demon that has Wes. That's what we were on our way to find. We were exploring an abandoned prison in Santa Fe with some hunting friends, thinking we'd find vamps that we could interrogate for information." He sighs, rubbing absently at his chest. "The next thing I know, everyone's gone, and a djinn's shoving his hands in my face."

Maka nods. "Okay,” she says, all business, “so what's your plan?"

Soul blinks. "Uh…I was kind of hoping you would help me with th-"

His stomach growls loudly, reminding him that it's been almost ten hours since he last ate. Heat crawls up his face as he looks at her, guilty and pleading.

She rolls her eyes. "There's a Wendy's in town. Might not be the high-class cuisine you're used to, but…"

"Wendy's is fine. We'll take the bike."

"What?" She follows him outside, then crosses her arms. “No. There's no way I'm getting on that thing."

Soul groans. "Maka, come on, just be cool for once."

"Do you _know_ how dangerous they are? One idiot driver and you're dead!"

Soul looks at her. "Really," he says flatly. "You're _really_ lecturing me on how dangerous riding a motorcycle is. Maka, we hunt bloodthirsty monsters and spirits and demons for a living. Nearly getting killed on a daily basis is part of our job description."

"I just don't believe in tempting fate," she sniffs, and Soul has to bite his tongue to stop himself from citing all the examples of her doing the exact opposite. "Besides," she continues, "there's no way there's enough room to fit my gear."

"We're just going down the street! What gear would we need beyond what we can carry on ourselves?"

"My shotgun, my flamethrower, fake IDs -"

"You don't need a flamethrower, and no one is going to card you at Wendy's, god."

"But -"

"You can bring the sawed-off, if only because I know how testy you get when it's not within reaching distance, but no to the rest."

She narrows her eyes at him. “ _You_ don't get to tell me what to do,” she sneers.

He blinks, takes a mental step backwards. "S…sorry,” he mumbles.

She glares at him for a few moments more before that impenetrable mask of calm comes back, one he’s hating more and more he sees it. “But fine, I guess you do have a point. I’ll leave the rest here.”

Still taken aback at her reaction, he manages a nod and hands her the extra helmet.

She carefully slides onto the seat behind him. The press of her body against his back is…distracting, and he puts as much of his concentration into starting up the motorcycle to avoid thinking about it. Her hands settle hesitantly on his hips, then grab him around the waist as he backs up.

"Relax," he tells her, as if he's done this more than just once less than an hour ago. "You can trust me."

Maka watches him, eyes inscrutable through the visor. He waits for a response, but receives nothing.

After a moment, he turns and lets the clutch out.

* * *

"Yeah, can I get uh…one spicy chicken sandwich, ten-piece chicken nuggets, an order of fries and a Son of a Baconator? Oh, and a medium chocolate frosty."

He digs around for his sandwich and nuggets and hands the bag to her. She takes it gingerly, watching him as he tears into the meal.

"What?" he says through a mouthful of food as she continues to stare at him. He swallows. "I'm starving. It's been like, ten hours since I last ate."

"No, that's not…" Her frown deepens. "How did you know what I wanted?"

"You always get the same thing at Wendy's," he replies. He takes a sip of his coke. "And I got you the fries because they don't have onion rings, and _yes_ , I'm aware you think it's a crime that a fast food burger place doesn't sell them."

Maka blinks at him. Soul raises an eyebrow and points a chicken nugget at her burger. "Are you gonna eat that or not? 'Cause I will if you won't."

She scowls at him before biting into it.

"Can I ask you a question?" she says after a few minutes of munching.

"Shoot."

She's quiet for a moment. "What am I like? In your…reality or whatever it is you come from."

"Reckless," he replies immediately. "Stubborn. Workaholic. Scary smart. _Violent_ ," he grouses. "Swear I've got some permanent brain damage from how many books you've hurled at my head." He gets a snort out of her at that.

"Brave," he says, softer now. "Strong. Caring. Kind. You never give up, not on anything, or anyone. It gets us in serious trouble sometimes. I keep trying to tell you that we can't - we can't save _everyone_ , that if we get ourselves killed then that's two less to protect other victims, but…" He sighs, though he can't help the ruefully affectionate smile creeping over his face. "You never listen."

This Maka looks down at her empty wrapper. "…Kind, huh," she says quietly. "Must be nice."

There's not much Soul can say to that, and Maka changes the subject quickly. "So, do you have any kind of plan right now? For your situation."

He shakes his head. "That's what I was hoping you would help me with. You don't know any way I can wake myself up from inside the dream?"

"No," she says. "I've heard rumors of an antidote, but…" She shrugs.

"Fuck." He stabs a chicken nugget into ketchup. "Fuck," he says again.

"You said that the djinn got you 'the first time'." Maka twirls the spoon in her fingers. "But your brother was able to get you out of it?"

"Yeah. We thought maybe it was because the djinn didn't have enough time to put me under."

"What happened in it? Your dream."

 "…I was giving a concert," he says reluctantly. "A representative from a European symphony, I think it was London, came to invite me to audition for them." He pushes at a small slash on the side of the table. "I was…really happy. But next thing I knew, everything was gone and Wes was waking me up."

Maka taps her fingers against her knee. "So your wish had something to do with wanting to perform at one of the elite symphonies?"

"Something like that," he mutters.

"Maybe…" She bites her lip. "Maybe that's what you need to do then?"

"…You lost me."

"Well…maybe you need to complete your wish, or something. You wanted to be accepted to a symphony, and you were, and then you woke up. Maybe you haven't finished your wish here."

"But my wish was for Wes to not get taken or possessed, and he's not."

"Maybe there's more to it than that." She leans forward, face focused and serious. "Was it really just for him not to be kidnapped? Or…" Her eyes meet his. "You've spent five years looking for your brother, with no success until now, right? A lot of people would have given up earlier. And most would never have taken it to the length you did - leaving their families, giving up on their dreams, trading in their homes and innocence for a rootless life of blood and gore. Why did you?"

"I…" He wishes they weren't having this conversation in a deserted Wendy's restaurant, wishes that this Maka remembered so he didn't have to drag his deepest shame back out again. He looks out the window, out at the slowly graying sky. "My brother and I didn't have the strongest relationship before, because of me," he says eventually. "When I said that I wanted to go to the train station, he leapt at the chance to go with me. And when he saved me, I said…something unforgivable to him." His hands tighten on the edge of the booth seat. "I never got the chance to - to say sorry, that I didn't mean it."

She nods, sympathetic. "Maybe that's what this is about then. Maybe your actual wish is to repair your relationship with your brother, and that wouldn't have been possible if he had been captured."

"…You think?" he asks, frowning.

She shrugs. "Like I said, never dealt with anything like this before. But I can't think of much else."

He sighs. "I guess." Maybe Maka was right - maybe the wrong here was the wrong Soul had been carrying with him for years, the wrong he'd done to his brother. Not like he had any better ideas at this point anyway.

He checks his watch - four thirty. If they pushed it, they could probably still make it back home and he could doze in the shower before Wes came to pick them up.

_It's not real,_ he reminds himself sternly. _It's all just to get out of here._ Maka - the real Maka, his partner Maka - could be in just as much danger as he was, could be even worse off now…

* * *

"Well," Maka says later, when they're back at the motel. "Good luck."

Soul pauses halfway in his descent off the bike. "O-oh," he says, lowering back onto the seat.

She seems to sense his surprise, because she raises one eyebrow at him and says, "What, you thought I was going to go with you? Sorry, but no. You might be my partner in…wherever, but I work alone."

"Where are you going?" he asks as she pushes the helmet into his hands.

"Wisconsin, I think." She extracts her sawed-off from the bike, giving it a fond pat. "Might be a spirit there. After that, who knows?"

"A spirit?" he echoes, frowning. "You know I could - I could come with you. Wes said he'd be in town for a while, and Wisconsin isn't that far -"

She crosses her arms. "I work _alone_."

"I…I know," he says quietly. "I just…don't want you to get hurt."

She narrows her eyes at him. "I can take care of myself," she says, but her face softens at his expression. "Look…" She steps closer, sleeves of her leather jacket brushing against his jeans. "For what it's worth…I think I understand. Why I would choose you as my partner."

"Because you're a workaholic who leaps before she looks?" He runs a hand through his hair, saying, "Maka, please, I promise, I won't slow you down. Just let me watch your back -"

"You really care about me, don't you?" She reaches up, hand hesitating near his cheek, and he longs to press his face against her palm, to close his eyes and feel his anxiety and fear seep away at her touch.

But her hand settles on his shoulder instead, and he pushes away his disappointment. "You're my partner," he says quietly. "Of course I care about you."

Her eyes search his, cold jade warming, just for a minute, into the vibrant summertime green he knows so well.

After a minute, she drops her gaze, and her hand falls away. "You should get back," she says. "And I should get going."

"Yeah," he says. He blows out a breath, then scrambles for something to write on. "Listen,” he says, finding a pen and uncapping it, “take my phone number. If anything comes up, just call or text me, and I'll - I'll be there, okay?"

She huffs, but reluctantly accepts the scrap of paper. "Good luck," she repeats, stepping away.

"Thanks," he says, and watches as she unlocks the door to her room and disappears inside.

He waits a minute more, halfway expecting to hear the slam of the knob bouncing off the side of the building as she bursts back out, demanding he not leave her there, forcing the helmet back on her head and climbing on behind him -

On the other side of the door, the chain rattles as it slides into its track. He looks away. The keys are cold in his hands as he starts the engine.

* * *

"So," Wes says, slicing his waffles with the precision of a surgeon. "Where did you want to go for dinner tonight?"

"Don't know," Soul mutters. He broods over his omelet, trying not to notice the absence of combat boots clanking against his shoes, trying not to notice how full his plate seems when there's no one to steal half of it.

"I thought I'd go back to the hotel after you left for work. I have a friend in town who said he would let me use one of his studios for practicing. Maybe we can have lunch together? Akane would be fine with me dropping by with food, right?"

"Mm - wait, what?" Soul looks up, frowning. "You're going back to the hotel?"

"Yes?" Wes pats his mouth with a napkin. "I'm not just going to stand in the lobby of your work waiting for you to get out, Soul."

"I thought…I thought maybe we could hang out, today." He pushes around the homefries on his plate. "I uh, got some time off of work, so…"

Silence. Soul cautiously peeks up through his eyelashes at his brother.

Wes’s face is blank with shock, but slowly, his eyes widen and joy spreads over his features. "Really?" he exclaims. "That's great!"

"Yeah." His brother's beam is blinding, and Soul hurriedly looks back down at his food.

"I'll have to thank Akane later. Oh, let's go to the aquarium! I heard they have a new shark exhibit, so don't even pretend that you don't want to go."

"Wes."

"Maybe we can go to the Loop, check out the museums there! Is it just today that you're free? Because we could go to the Christkindlmarket and pick out something for Mother and Father -"

" _Wes_."

Wes stops mid-babble. He lowers his hands, but can't lower the corners of his mouth into a neutral expression no matter how serious he tries to look.

"It's whatever you want to do," Soul says, trying for gruff but coming out as fond. "You're the one who came to visit me."

"Aquarium it is then," Wes declares, and they go back to their meals.

Oni's words run through his head, and Soul fiddles with his drink, dips his fingers in the ring of condensation it leaves on the table. "...Hey Wes," he says, slowly tracing lines on the wood. "Can I...can I ask you something?"

"Whatever your heart desires, baby brother."

He scowls, but lets it pass. "If I...if I told you..." His mouth feels dry, and he swallows. "If I said..."

Wes cocks his head to the side. "If you said...?"

The patient curiosity in his brother's tone has Soul shrinking into himself, words withering on his treacherous tongue. "Nothing," he mumbles.

Wes doesn't say anything, but his concern is palpable and Soul pushes his plate away, appetite lost. "Come on, finish your food," he says. "I want to see a great white."

* * *

There is no great white shark at the aquarium, not that Soul seriously expected them to have one. But they do have sandbar and zebra sharks, and a beautiful black-tipped reef shark that brushes close to the tank as it glides past. Soul doesn't realize he's grinning like a child until Wes nudges him with a mischievous expression.

"Ahhh, little brother," Wes says fondly, mussing his hair. "You never change."

"I - I do!" Soul protests, shoving him away. "I'm - I'm just as tall as you now."

" _Almost_ as tall, I do still have an inch on you."

"More like a quarter of one!"

Wes laughs, and his hand slips away. "Come on, stop gawking at the sharks. I want to go see the jellyfish."

"Whatever, sharks are cooler," he grumbles, fingers slipping away from the cool smooth surface. "Jellyfish are just glowing plastic bags."

Wes blatantly ignores him, humming as he walks away. Soul trails him, keeping his slender frame in sight as they pass through a crowd of giggling tourists.

They walk quietly through the darkened rooms. The light from the tanks washes his brother's face in pale blues and grays, fades his blonde hair to white. His eyes are trained on the slow, lazy pulse of the jellyfish's incandescent glow.

Soul turns to look, but he finds himself focusing instead on the reflection of them in the glass. Wes’s expression is as open as always, his posture impeccable. His gaze travels around his brother's face, to his swept back bangs and the high cheekbones that made his admirers swoon, to his perfectly straight teeth and the creases around his eyes from smiling. His eyes land on himself, his own features a smaller, sharper echo of his brother's.

When Soul was younger, he used to love hearing about their matching hair and faces, used to want to be as close to the older brother he adored so much. As he got older, though, as all the ways they didn't match began to make themselves known and he began to recognize the gulf between their talents, he started to resent the comparisons. He turned his back on his brother, desperate to widen the gap between them, desperate to push him so far away that he couldn't see all the ways he didn't, couldn't, measure up reflected in his face.

Soul’s slouched far enough so Wes looks to be three inches taller, mouth in a downwards line. He's still unused to the yellow that tinges his hair, the deep brown of his eyes, the rounded edges of his teeth. Deep down, he knows that he'll never look this way again, never look this normal and unassuming. _You never change_ , Wes said, but Wes didn't know, couldn't begin to comprehend how different the Soul in front of him was now from the Soul that left him at the mercy of the monsters in the dark.

This Soul looked like someone who was more used to the feeling of smooth ivory under his hands than the slick handle of a gun. This Soul's skin was soft and pristine, not mottled by scars and conditioned through the terror of fighting for his life on a daily basis. This Soul had never guided a knife through the ribs of a monster, had never felt death run its fingers along his chest, had never slipped in a pool of his partner's own blood as the life seeped out of her eyes.

"Excuse me?"

Soul and Wes turn as one. The young man's grin slips slightly as his eyes dart between them, but he regains his confidence as they settle on Wes. "You're - you're Wesley Evans, right?"

"That's right!" Wes says, and Soul resists the urge to roll his eyes, hunching in on himself even further.

"Oh wow," the man says as he shakes Wes’s hand vigorously. "It's such an honor, really, I saw you at Carnegie, last July - you performed the Kreutzer Sonat[a](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XNGt6yLPOE0). It was beautiful, just absolutely stunning."

"I'm so glad to hear it," his brother says, warm as ever. "It's one of my favorites. Soul, you remember when we used to play it together?"

How could he not. The first movement had been one of Soul's favorite pieces, back when he used to beg Wes to play with him, back when he would practice over and over again so he could keep up with the purity singing from his brother’s violin.

It had also been one of the first victims to Soul's newfound awareness of his lack of talent. He distinctly remembers the last time they played - he had purposefully began to slide in his own notes, transforming it into his own angry, wild composition, leaving Wes struggling to follow. His brother had still managed to keep up, had even been able to add his own embellishments to the music, to the bitterness of twelve-year-old Soul.

"Yeah, I remember," Soul says when he realizes that they're both looking at him, waiting for a response. He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them as he does his best not to act like a sullen child.

The young man's face creases, clearly wondering who he is. "This is my brother, Solomon," Wes says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "He's the pianist in the family."

"It's _Soul_ ," he grumbles.

"Ah," the man says politely, and his eyes say the rest - _I didn't know you had a brother._

He turns to Wes, asking, "Do you think I could get an autograph?" and Soul looks away, starts to read the informational plaque for moon jellies. It's on his third read-through of the first sentence that he hears the man thank Wes and walk away.

Some things haven't changed after all.

* * *

Later that night, after dinner, Soul suggests watching a movie at his apartment. Something eases in him as he watches Wes become absorbed in the plot, the knot of jealousy and inferiority beginning to unravel from the pit of his stomach.

"This has been fun, Soul," Wes says as the credits roll down the screen. "Probably one of the best days I've had this month."

"Me too," Soul says as Wes gets up and stretches.

He follows him to the door, hovering awkwardly as his brother drapes his coat over his body, slips into his shoes. "So, Christkindlmarket tomorrow? Christmas is next week, you know, and I'm willing to bet you haven't gotten anyone anything."

"Yeah."

"We should get there early if we can. I think the shops open around eleven, so I'll come pick you up maybe at nine. We can do brunch before driving over -"

"I love you, you know that, right?" Soul blurts out.

Wes pauses midway through buttoning up his jacket. He frowns. "Of course I do, Soul."

"I…was just thinking. I was kind of a brat when I was a kid…"

"Still are, little bro," Wes says, half a grin on his face. "Mother and Father tear her hair out about you on a monthly basis. You could call them once in a while, you know, at least give them warning before you suddenly drop by."

"Yeah yeah," Soul says, then clears his throat. "I just wanted to say that…you were -" and god, he'd rather swallow nails than let the darkness he's kept coiled in the bottom of his heart loose to taint everyone's perception of him. But Maka's face flashes through his mind, and he steels himself. "You've always been someone I really looked up to," he says, unable to look anywhere but at the expensive leather of Wes’s shoes. "And I know I've been a real fucking jerk to you at times. You've never done anything but support me and I - I couldn't -" He cuts himself off, closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

Wes is silent, waiting for him to finish, and Soul can't tell if that's a good or bad thing. "I haven't always been good at showing it," he continues, rubbing at his arm, painfully self-conscious, "but I - I love you, and I'm proud to be your brother. You're the best one I could ever have."

His brother's face, when he dares to steal a glance at it, is as open as ever, and unshed tears shine in his eyes. "Aw, Soul," he says, sniffing.

"Wes, don't you dare -"

" _Baby brotherrrrr,_ " he cries, throwing his arms around him. "I can't believe you just told me all of that! In words!"

"Shut up!" Soul scowls into his shoulder. "I just felt - I didn't want you to - whatever!"

"Shhh, shhh, I know," Wes soothes him, patting him on the back like he's five.

Soul wrenches himself away, muttering, “ ’M not a baby, christ, see if I ever say anything nice about you again," but Wes just laughs.

"I've always known, Soul," Wes says, pausing at the door. "I can tell, even if you don't say it outright. Who else would have written a letter to one of my harshest critics after one of my first performances, saying 'you are a very mean person and you hear bad, my brother is the best violin player'? Who else would have gotten into a fight with one of the other kids at school after they said unkind things about me because I was chosen for first chair over them?" Wes gives him a fond look. "You're a pretty good brother yourself, Soul."

"Thanks," Soul says, even as his mind screams rebuttals. He attempts a smile.

It seems to reassure Wes, because he ruffles his hair and begins to leave. Soul follows him outside, shivering in his thin sweats and slippers. The snow shimmers in the light from the streetlamps, and Wes brushes off a light dusting of it from the hood of the car. "See you tomorrow, little brother!" He gives him a cheerful wave as he slides into the driver’s seat.

"Hopefully not," Soul says softly as he drives away, and the disappointment and hope follow him as he goes back inside.

* * *

The blaring of his alarm wakes him. His fingers find his chest, and the mixture of fear and relief as they glide over unbroken skin makes him want to vomit.

* * *

Christkindlmarket is loud and overwhelming and everything that Soul hates. Still, Wes seems to be having a good time, going back and forth between the stalls, chatting up the shopkeepers, buying enough that Soul once again wishes that this Soul wasn't as out of shape.

Why is he still here? The question sounds over and over in his mind as he watches Wes inspect a messenger bag. _Right the wrong, right the wrong._

"Soul, what do you think of this?" Wes asks, squinting down at the inside of the bag. "Do you think I'd be able to fit sheet music in here?"

"Who cares?" Soul mutters automatically, glaring at a man who bumps into him without apologizing. Wes’s shoulders droop, just a little, and he winces. "I mean, it's, uh, nice," he says awkwardly. "And yeah, it looks big enough."

He brightens. "Perfect," he says, nodding to the owner. "Did you find anything for our parents? I was thinking of a cuckoo clock for Father - I saw a someone selling them over that way." He's already striding through the thick of the crowd, and Soul reluctantly follows.

The wave of people assaults him as he tries to force his way through after his brother. Wes seems to easily slip from gap to gap, cresting each new onslaught of bodies, but Soul feels like an graceless land mammal, huge and lumbering. He knocks into people, murmuring apologies as he struggles to keep up, ears ringing with the constant chatter. Sweat drips down his forehead, freezing in winter chill. He can't stand the constant jostling as people brush past him, can't stand the press of the masses against him, the bright lights and pungent odors.

He suddenly realizes that Wes has disappeared. He spins, frantically scanning the bobbing heads around him for the familiar outline of his brother. But every face is unfamiliar, every gaze that lingers on him hard and too knowing, and he's drowning, sucked into the riptide of the crowd, feeling everything close in around him as he gasps for air.

He darts into a dark gap between the stalls, doubles over as he fights to inhale the air made humid by masses of bodies. He desperately wishes for Maka, for her commanding presence to clear out the crowd in front of them - for her ability to assess his face in a single glance and know exactly what he's feeling. For her patience and understanding, for the anchor of her hand in his as she leads him away from the people and the noise.

Finally, he spots Wes loitering near one of the stalls, turning over one of the clocks in his hands as he talks to the person behind the counter. He makes a beeline for his brother, narrowly avoiding being tripped by a few children who dart in front of him.

"Could you get that for me?" he's asking the seller. Soul grabs onto the back of his jacket, and Wes turns. "Oh, Soul, did you see this? I like the structure of this one, but the gentleman says that they may have one with a music design in the back -"

"Can we go?" Soul blurts out.

Wes frowns. "Soul, you haven't bought a single thing. And we haven’t listened to any of the bands, or gotten the mulled wine…"

"Please?" His fingers tighten on the jacket's strap. "I - I think I'm done here."

Wes’s face falls, and Soul knows he fucked it up, again, but if he lingers here any longer he'll be reduced to nothing but animalistic panic and fear.

" _Please_ ," he says in a very small voice.

Wes’s expression clears, and he nods. "Of course, Soul." He turns and exchanges a few words with the newly returned shopkeeper before receiving his purchase and guiding them towards the exit.

The crisp air and cool breeze outside quiet his anxiety, making way for shame and self-loathing to crash down on him. _You fucked up,_ he tells himself, _you'll never be able to mend your and Wes’s relationship, never right the wrongs you've done to him - all you ever do is let people down, like you've let Wes down, like you're letting Maka down -_

Beside him, Wes checks his watch, and reaches for his keys. "Tired?" he asks. "Do you want me to drop you off at your apartment?"

_Yes,_ his exhausted body begs, and god, nothing sounds better than just crawling under the covers, comforter muffling any sound outside of his breathing, and drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

"No," Soul says. "I just - I just needed some air. Sorry. We can, um, go back if you want."

Wes waves a hand dismissively. "I bought what I wanted, and the food products looked dubious anyway. Besides, it's getting to be lunchtime, and I'm feeling a little peckish."

"Me too," he says quickly over the rush of relief. "Let's go get lunch."

It's quieter in the car than he thought it would be without Wes humming along to the radio or talking his ear off about the backstage antics he's witnessed. "Sorry," he mutters again, pulling at a loose thread on his sleeve.

"What?" Wes’s eyes are trained on the traffic, watching for a gap to ease through. "Come again?"

"Sorry," he says, a little louder. "That we didn't stay."

"I told you, I purchased everything I wanted. It's fine." The light turns red for the cross-traffic but too many cars block the road to be able to get through. Wes’s mouth twists, and he sighs moodily, tapping his fingers on the wheel.

Two cycles of green and red later, Soul gathers his courage again. "Are you - are you upset with me?"

"No?" Wes turns to face him this time, brow creased in concern. "Soul, I'm just happy to be spending time with you. We haven't done anything like this for a while, and I've missed it."

Stab goes the guilt again, and Soul sighs. "If you're sure," he mumbles, slouching into the leather upholstery.

"I'm sure," Wes says firmly. "Now, where do you want to go eat?"

* * *

Another awakening in his bed in Chicago, another morning staring at his reflection in the mirror as he brushes his blunt teeth, another day of guilty outings with Wes. Another day of staring at the back of his brother's head as he trails along behind him, Oni's words echoing in his mind over and over again. Another day fighting the impulse to _stay_ , to live his life here, simple and quiet and happy, and forget that he ever knew anything different. Another night of pacing around his apartment, trying to distract himself from images of Maka, bruised eyes and pale skin, hanging limply against the wall, blood draining out of her - distract himself from the knowledge that he himself is in that very position.

It's on the fourth day after he met with this reality's Maka that Wes turns to him and says, "You know, I was thinking - I know I was supposed to leave tomorrow, but I can afford to take another couple of days off. How about we go ice skating in the park instead?"

Soul hunches over the railing, staring at the monkeys swinging from rope to rope. There's nothing he'd rather do less than make a fool of himself and willingly subject himself to the judgement and scrutiny of the crowd that's sure to be there. But Wes looks at him so hopefully, as hopeful as he had been yesterday, and the day before that -

"Sure. Sounds fun," Soul finds himself saying.

"Really? Great!" Wes beams, and then sighs happily. "This week has really been just amazing, Soul. I sort of wish it'd never end."

"Mmm." The rest of the day plays out in his mind: finishing up at the zoo, eating out for dinner again, going back to an empty apartment. Waking up by himself, meeting Wes at the rink, watching as he charms his way across the ice. Sitting on the bench, rental skates pinching his toes, cold air bleeding into his bones. Seeing friends and families and couples huddled together, seeing their mouths move, their faces wreathed in smiles, but hearing none of it, feeling none of it, through the barrier between himself and the rest of the world.

Realizing, again, over and over, that he exists as the monochrome in a realm of color - that even when surrounded by people and warmth, he is distant, cold, and alone.

"Lions are next, I think!" Wes proclaims, map crinkling in his hand. The weak winter sun streaming through the glass makes a halo of his hair as he smiles. "Ready to go?"

Soul doesn't say anything for a moment, just looks at him, holding Wes’s face, suffused with joy in his mind. Memorizing the radiant look in his eye, the excitement that creeps into his voice when he talks about practically anything, the kindness he shows to his little brother no matter how much he's pushed away.

He closes his eyes, hoping against hope that if - _when_ he wakes up, this will be the Wes he can remember, the Wes he can carry with him - the Wes he's fighting to free from Arachne.

"Soul?"

"Yeah," Soul says, opening his eyes. "Yeah, I'm ready."

* * *

Two hours after Wes drops him off, Soul goes to the bedroom and reaches for the bag underneath his bed, the bag that he'd kept ready just in case Maka needed him. Everything's as he's left it - clothing, money, proper lockpicks, weapons.

He picks up the gun on top, starts to load it with bullets. He's working out what to say to Maka, how to convince her to drop the case she's on to go with him to Santa Fe and find the djinn when there's a creak behind him.

Soul's head snaps around. Wes stands in the doorway, frowning. "Where are you going, Soul?"

"Wes!" He hides the gun behind his back as he turns to face him. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I _asked_ , where are you going?"

"I, uh - n-nowhere? I -"

"You know I'm here for another two days," Wes says, advancing on him. "We had plans tomorrow. And you're leaving now?"

Soul takes a step back, bumping into the bed behind him. "Wes, I was just -"

"You're always leaving me." The blue of his eyes is brilliant and cold as his gaze bores into Soul's. "Leaving me with the djinn. Leaving me with Arachne. And now leaving me again, just when we were getting along so well."

Soul nearly drops the gun. "How -" he chokes out, "how do you -"

"Know? Little brother, I know everything you do. And I know you've been finally given a chance to make up for how you've messed up our relationship, and yet, look at you, throwing it away." He sighs, shaking his head. "Why do you have to ruin this, Soul?" he asks, as if admonishing him for forgetting to take out the garbage again. "You're always ruining things. Why can't you just be normal for once? Do you ever think about how sick I am of having to baby you, how much I resent it when we have to drop everything we're doing because of your sniveling and whining about crowds and people? How the tantrums you threw when we were younger made it so we had to leave places before I even got to enjoy them? Just like with Christkindlmarket - you couldn't just stay for _one second_ longer -"

"You - you said you were d-done!" Soul cries, blinking back tears. "You said you weren't upset! You said - you said that we were okay -"

Wes laughs, cruel and mocking. "You think some pretty words, some little playdates will make it up to me? Little brother, you rejected me. You told me that you never wanted to be my brother. Do you know how much that hurt?" He takes another step forward, and Soul flinches, back of his knees bumping into the bed. "All I ever wanted was to spend time with you," he hisses into his ear. "But you're too selfish, aren't you? All you ever do is think about yourself, how _you_ feel."

"N-no -"

"How do you think I felt when you told me you didn't want to go camping with me?" Wes asks, fingernails digging into Soul's forearm. "How did you think Maka felt when you refused to tell her about your deal, about Medusa and Oni? And our parents - did you even think about how devastating it would be to them, to lose both of us at the same time?"

"I - I -"

"No, of course not. Why think when you can run? After all, leaving is the one skill you're proficient in."

"You're not Wes," Soul says shakily. He attempts to wrest back his hand, but Wes’s iron grip on him only cinches tighter. "You're just - you're just something the djinn has come up with to fuck with me -"

"Why, because I'm telling you the truth?" Wes jeers. "Because you want to believe that I'll always forgive you, that everything you've done to me can be wiped away with a single apology?" He lowers his head, hair brushing against Soul's wet face. "Hate to break it to you, little brother, but life doesn't work that way. You told me the one thing you knew would hurt me most, and I'll _never forgive you for that._ "

"No," Soul whispers, breath hitching. "I didn't - I'm s- _sorry_ , please, I never -" He chokes on a sob, words lodging in his throat, bitter as the tears coursing down his cheeks.

A pause, and Wes’s face softens. Fingers unwrap from his wrists and come to cradle his cheeks, brushing away his tears. "It's okay," Wes says, voice gentle. "We can make it right again. It will take time, and effort, but we can fix this together, okay? Just stay here, with me - we'll make up for the time we lost. The time you robbed me of. In here we'll have a lifetime."

"M-make it right again…" Soul repeats, mind whirling.

"Yes, little brother," he soothes, carding his hands through his hair.

"This is the way things were supposed to go. The way your life was supposed to be." The pistol wavers as he raises it, pointing it at his brother. "The way that never happened, that never will."

Wes’s eyes go flat, staring at the barrel, but says nothing.

" _I_ took you to the train station. _I_ pushed you away. _I_ left you there, in the dark, and you - you never got out." The barrel of the gun feels cool against his temple. "I know now. I'm the wrong."

His brother's eyes widen, and the world slows as Wes reaches, mouth moving to form his name -

Soul pulls the trigger.


	4. the monster

 

His eyes fly open, heart hammering, gasping for air. Sand coats the inside of his throat. His limbs feel heavy and cold, and it's with difficulty that he raises his arm to drag his fingers across his chest. The skin underneath is rough and puckered with scar tissue, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

His head aches, thoughts sluggish and weighted with dreams and empty promises. The world of is made up of hazy outlines, and he presses a palm to his forehead, lets the chill wear away at the sleep that threatens to drag him back down to darkness.

The cot creaks as he attempts to move, burning pain along his neck - he grasps and pulls out the needle inserted in it. His fingers follow the tubing up to the warm sagging bag of his blood and the pole it hangs from.

He uses it for support, raising himself up to a sitting position. In the flickering light from the hallway, he can make out a cell, rusted iron bars, and a cot next to him, someone perched on the edge, teeth flashing white as they smile -

"You're awake!"

"P-" He swallows, licks his lips. "Patty," he rasps.

"Man, I thought you were going to sleep forever." Her fingers tap against her leg as she regards him, chin propped in her hand. "I've been waiting for you to wake up for hours."

"Why didn't -" He coughs, clears his throat. "Why didn't you try to wake me?"

"I did! No dice. Thought you were dead for a bit until I felt your pulse."

"You couldn't have unhooked me?" He rubs at the puncture site, wincing. His fingers come away slick, and he presses down, stemming the flow.

"I dunno, I wasn't sure if that was a good idea. It looked like it was draining some bad shit from you." She nods at the bag, and it's - it's not red, the blood, not the deep ruby color he's become accustomed to seeing splashed on clothes or whenever Stein changed his chest dressings. No, this is black, black as pitch, a darkness so deep it seems to pull his eyes towards it, like a black hole...

He forces his gaze away. "Yeah, okay," he mutters. He attempts to stand, but quickly reconsiders, and instead lets his feet dangle from the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he waits for the world to stop spinning.

"Glad you're up now though. I was getting bored." Patty yawns, stretching her arms and cracking her back.

"How long have you been awake for, anyway?" Soul asks, looking up at her.

 She gives a half-shrug. "A while."

"Did you…" He hesitates, unsure of his footing on the topic. "Did you dream, too?"

"Mmm." The ever-present grin on her face dims a bit, eyes hidden in the darkness.

"And…how did you wake up -"

Patty suddenly jumps off the bed. "All right!" she says cheerfully, turning towards the hallway. "Now that you're awake, we can get this show on the road!"

Soul half-rises off the cot, saying, "Wait, wha-"

"HEY!" Patty cries, banging on the bars. "LET US OUT!"

"What the _fuck!_ " he exclaims, lunging for her. He wobbles a little but manages to catch the crook of her elbow, and pulls her back. "Why the fuck would you do that?!"

"It's locked," she says simply, as if that justifies bringing down who knows how many djinn down on their heads.

"You _idiot_ , now they're gonna -"

A scuffling from the hallway. He shoves her on the cot, hissing, "Pretend to be asleep!" before quickly assuming a sleeping position.

The footsteps stop at their cell, and through a cracked eye Soul can make out a tall woman, skin writhing in tattoos. It pauses, peering in at the two.

Beside him, Patty lets out a low groan, and twitches. The door rattles as the djinn unlocks it and Soul tenses as it moves towards Patty, hand outstretched, blue slithering up her arm -

Patty explodes upwards, tackling it and knocking them both to the ground. They struggle on the concrete, Soul scrambling to gag the djinn with a rag as Patty pins its wrists above its head.

"Take the right," Patty grunts, and Soul awkwardly shuffles one hand to the djinn's right wrist. Patty lets go, grabs the blood bag pole, and shoves it through the djinn's eye.

Its back arches, agonized screams muffled by the gag, and Soul fights to keep it restrained. "It's not - going - to work," he manages. "Silver knife - lamb's blood -"

Patty extracts the pole and smashes it down on the djinn's head, again and again. "One thing -" another hit, " - I've learned -" and another, pole whistling down, "- it really doesn't matter -" the crunch of bone, "- if you do enough brain damage -" bits of gore flicking onto his shirt, "- it'll die eventually!" and its head lolls to the side, fingers twitching briefly before stilling.

Soul slowly releases his grip on the monster's wrist. It doesn't move, tattoos dim and inert. "…Let's just get out of here," he says gruffly.

Patty extracts the keys from its grasp, and they steal outside into a long corridor. Glass crunches under their feet as they move from cell to cell, squinting through cobwebs at abandoned, half-rotten cots. Rats skitter in the darkness, and rust covers every metal surface available, but every bed is as abandoned as the next.

The sound of rapidly approaching feet, many of them, have them both diving around the corner. The footsteps pause halfway down the hallway, and Soul attempts to communicate through facial expression and a firm hand on Patty's arm to _shut up_ , _don't you dare give us away._ He pulls her further down the passageway, urging her faster as shouting goes up behind them.

"What are we doing?" Patty hisses as they move as quickly and as quietly as they can. "We need to kill them -"

"With what?" Soul demands. "There's at least three more of them and we can't just beat them all to death! We don't have the right weapons to do it quickly, and we're outnumbered, _and_ we can't get touched by them."

"So what, then? We can't -"

Voices at the other end of the hallway. Soul casts around wildly, spies a half-cracked door, and shoves Patty inside, ducking in after her. He crouches against the peeling wall, holding his breath and doing his best to meld into the darkness as the djinn come barreling down the hallway. Patty's quiet beside him, though he feels her shift as they pass them.

"I'm _not_ leaving Liz," she whispers fiercely once they're out of earshot. Blue eyes challenge him, mouth set in a determined line.

"Don't be stupid," Soul whispers back, scoffing. "Like I'd ever leave Maka."

He feels her relax slightly beside him. "Good," she mutters.

"We need to find them, then get them out of here, _quietly_." He sticks his head out the door, and motions for her to follow him as he scuttles into the hallway. "If we run into any djinn, _don't_ charge at them - run away if you can, and try to find our partners."

"And what are _you_ going to do? Hiding a knife and some blood in that jacket of yours?"

"Just-" He shakes his head, chasing Maka's pleas away from his mind. _If there's ever an emergency, this is it_ , he thinks, and says, "Just leave them to me, okay?"

They retrace the monsters' steps, reaching the end of the hall and slipping carefully through a gate with pried-apart bars. They enter another block of cells, this one with two levels and a larger clearing in the middle. It's clearly where the djinn have been living - cards are spread out on the tables in the center, cigarette smoke wafting from makeshift ashtrays next to them. Actual beds are shoved into the cells closest to the door, and a fridge hums against one of the walls.

Patty makes a beeline for one of the rooms, Soul following close behind. Plastic bags sag on the ground, overflowing with clothing and junk; she digs through one of them, and he reflexively catches the dagger she tosses at him, running his thumb over the worn hilt.

They load themselves up on weapons, and even though he knows that the djinn aren't going to be deterred by their bullets, the familiar feel of his pistol in his hand settles his nerves ever so slightly.

Patty sticks her cowboy hat on her head, and they search the rest of the lower level cells, but find only everyday items and necessities. The metal stairs protest loudly under their feet as they ascend, and -

" _Maka!"_ he whispers, hands curling around the bars as he stares at his sleeping partner. He grabs the keys from Patty, hands shaking as he inserts and turns.

Behind him, he hears Patty call out Liz's name, but he only has eyes for Maka. She's pale in the fluorescent lights spilling in from the hall. She doesn't respond to her name even when he shakes her, and she's still, too still. For a minute he fears the worst, feels his heart stutter to a stop until he cradles her face in his hands, feels the hesitant pulse beneath his thumbs, the slow rise and fall of her chest.

He quickly unhooks her from the blood tubes, tossing the needle aside. He stoops, trying to figure out the best way to carry her out, when -

_"Found you_."

He's shoved against the wall, cold hands clamping around his neck, and he stares into the face of a djinn.

But not just any djinn. No, Soul knows this one - sees its face in his nightmares, its cruel and inhuman eyes alight with glee as it squeezes Wes’s jaw.

The djinn pauses, blue of its tattoos dimming. "I know you," it says, gravelly voice threaded with surprise. "You're the brother. The one that got away."

"And you're the monster that took Wes, that we've been hunting down for the past five years," Soul growls through clenched teeth. "Looks like you lost him."

"Lost him?" The djinn chuckles. "Our queen, our mother, requested the use of our blood bag, and we were happy to be able to provide." It pauses, eyes flickering over his face, lingering on his hair and his eyes. "Ah. Putting your brother in danger again, I see."

" _Shut up!"_ He lashes out, sinks the heel of his foot into its stomach. It barely twitches, and its lip curls, revealing sharpened teeth.

"Monster, you say." It toys with a lock of white, rubs it between its fingers. Soul tries to yank himself away, but its grip on his jaw only tightens. "Yet look at yourself, hm? You're just as monstrous as us, now." It cocks its head. "Or rather, it's easier to see on the outside. You've always been a little twisted, haven't you? A little off…a little _wrong_."

"You don't know _anything_ about me," Soul snarls, struggling against its iron strength.

"I don't?" It smiles indulgently, trailing a hand down his cheek. "A monster always knows its kin, Soul. I know how you wished, and wished for the extinguishment of your brother's light, all so _you_ could shine." It leans closer. "Do you know what your brother dreamed of?" it whispers. "He dreamed of you. Of the close, brotherly relationship he always wanted with you, the one that you denied him, time after time." A huff of breath against his ear. "If only he knew yours was of getting rid of him. If only he knew it was because of you, because of your deal with Arachne's mortal enemy, that he was taken over -"

"N-no," Soul gasps, edges of his vision begin to dim. His fingers slip from its forearm, ice creeping into his skin as he whimpers, "No, no, no, no -"

"I know that you couldn't bear to deal with the consequences of your ugly jealousy and inferiority, how you ran away," it hisses, words piercing him with truth despite sounding further and further away. "I know all about how hollow you are on this inside, unable to be filled - how you become nothing but a mewling child when you're confronted with the greater world. How you _use_ people around you to make you feel better about yourself, how you _use_ Maka - how you leech away at her strength and pretend that it fills you, how you delude yourself into thinking you love her because she's the only person that makes you feel needed -"

"That's _NOT TRUE!_ " Soul roars, and his blood _surges_ -

"Ah ah ah," the djinn purrs, and blue snakes up its arms as it says, "Shhh, don't think, Soul, just sleep…"

* * *

He doesn't realize he's screaming until he feels arms encircle him, hears someone saying, "Shh, Soul, it's okay, shh…"

He cuts himself off with a strangled sob, buries his face in his hands. Tears slip through his fingers, dripping onto the sheets, and he can't breathe, choking on guilt and grief and sorrow -

A warm, soothing touch blooms against his back, dulling the cold seizing his body. "It's over, Soul," someone says gently, rubbing circles. "I'm here, it's okay, you're safe…"

"M-Maka?"

"Soul," she murmurs with such tenderness that he can't help but turn to her, can't help but bury himself in the crook of her neck and let the steady beat of her heart calm him.

Gradually, the sobs subside, and his ragged breathing evens out with only the occasional shaky inhale. Awareness slowly comes back to him - the coolness of the sheets he's tangled in, the shafts of moonlight streaming in from the window, Maka's shoulder cold and wet and slightly sticky against his cheek.

"Better?" Maka asks, vibrations from her voice resonating through him.

"Mmm," he says into her neck. The edges of her hair tickle his nose, skin smelling of leather jacket and something so intrinsically Maka that he feels himself relaxing, stress spooling from his muscles. He lets himself sink further, unwilling to move just yet.

"Well then." Her hands trail down his back, and there's a hint of mischief in her voice as she says, "I know the best way to send you back to sleep."

Something - no, no those are…those are Maka's fingers, tracing the planes of his stomach. His - his very bare stomach, and suddenly he's acutely aware of the soft, unclothed flesh underneath him, pressing against his chest.

"M-Maka," he stutters, freezing as she shifts.

" _Soul_ ," she sighs, and he jumps as her hands crest along his hipbones, slipping deeper down -

He jolts backwards, sputtering, "Wh-" but he's cut off as Maka rises up beneath him and captures his lips with her own.

She's soft, so soft, every point of contact between them soft and warm. He's too stunned to move, but Maka doesn't seem to mind, mouth moving against his. He tries to form words, tries to protest, but she seems to take this as encouragement because she eagerly presses forward into him. Teeth nibble at his lower lip and his mind goes blank, melting him into nothing but heat and instinct and god, he can't help it - he kisses her back, tongue slipping in to meet her own.

Her hands caress his hips, burning, and she breaks away to press playful pecks along his jaw, down his neck. He swallows thickly as a searing tongue slides over his collarbones, moan slipping from him as she sucks on his Adam's apple. He finds himself touching her over and over, fingers lingering on the point of her chin, the arch of her neck, the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist. Little gasps slip from her as he explores every inch of her skin, and his heart thrums in his chest, blood buzzing as she hooks a leg between his own. It's…it's everything he could have ever hoped for, everything he could have ever

dreamed

of.

"I…no…" He stops, hands coming up to grip her shoulders. "Wait."

"It's okay, Soul." Hooded green eyes look up at him, smoldering. "I want this." Lips find his ear, breathing, "I want _you_."

" _Stop_." He wrenches himself away, pushing past the love and lust that clouds his mind. "You - you're not real."

Maka sighs, but settles back into the pillow. "It was just a nightmare, Soul," she says gently, fingers tracing patterns on his back.

" _No_ ," he repeats, shrinking away from her. "No, this isn't real - the djinn -"

"- Is dead," Maka interrupts, heat in her tone now. "Remember? I killed it, saved you -"

" _No you didn't._ " Maka's arm reaches out to grab him as he scrambles out of bed. "It's here, it's in my mind again -"

"Soul," Maka says calmly, sitting up. Moonlight shines on her bare chest and he tears his eyes away. "Soul," she says again, patient, "that was years ago. We go through this every week." Her hand reaches, cups his face. "I got there in time to stab it, but your brother wasn't…wasn't so lucky -"

"Get out of my _mind!_ " he cries, tearing at his hair, and Maka freezes mid-sentence as the world goes wavy, then explodes -

"More! It's not holding!"

Flashes of azure blue, and more hands grip his face, fingers digging in, and Soul cries out in pain as his vision shatters -

* * *

This time, there's no Maka, no Wes. There's only darkness, stretching out into infinity, silent and featureless.

He opens his eyes wide, stares into nothingness, but nothing stares back. Because there is only nothing, he realizes - no beat of his heart, no expansion of his lungs, no feeling whatsoever.

Soul tells his body to hold his hands out in front of him, but it's impossible to tell with no resistance of the air, no feedback of movement to his body. Still, he tries, desperate for _something_ , anything to give him form and existence in the void. Nothing, nothing and then - there. His hands grasps something round, something metal and cool - a doorknob. He twists and pulls and…

There's a figure standing in front of him. He can't seem to focus on it properly, only able to take in one or two features at a time - Maka's green eyes, Wes’s blond hair, her sharp chin, his slanted nose. Even as he looks, the face seems to shift, blue irises peeking through a fringe of ash blonde bangs, freckles blooming on high cheekbones.

_"Soul_ ," it groans, a horrifying mix of Wes’s rich timbre and Maka's higher tones. It reaches for him, and he recoils. He tries to slam the door shut but it's become impossibly large and heavy, and slender fingers with chewed off nails reach in through the crack.

" _Stay here."_ Blunt fingertips scrape at his arm. _"Don't leave us -"_

He turns and runs. " _Don't leeeAAAAVEEE,"_ the thing wails, voice twisting into a shriek, but Soul only claps his hands over his ears as he flees.

He runs, and runs, and yet his body remains curiously disconnected; he knows he should be gasping for air, knows his heart should be pounding out of his chest, but he feels none of it, only peaceful anesthesia of nothingness.

He risks a glance behind, and stops, twists around. In the mirror, his old self stares at him, shoulders and knees trembling, lip quivering as he bares perfect teeth in a pathetic attempt to ward him off. Soul turns, and another mirror image of him confronts him with a snarl, and the one next to him with a troubled frown.

Suddenly, the scenes transform. In the mirror, Soul slouches next to his brother, pretending to scowl as Wes gestures animatedly. Something like affection tugs at the corner of his mouth, though, and when Wes slings an arm over his shoulder, he leans into it, huffing. His brother pokes at him, teasing expression on his face, and Soul gives him a rare open grin as Wes ruffles his hair.

To the right, Maka lays her head on other Soul's shoulder, her hand on his chest as he wraps an arm around her waist and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. The look in his eyes as he stares down at her is tender, rapt with love, and Maka smiles back at him, the curve of her lips somehow secret and intimate.

More and more images of him appear, Soul after Soul living out lives in the confines of their mirrors. Fingers dancing over polished ivory keys, a standing ovation. His mother and father, smiling fondly at him across the dinner table. Accepting awards, laughing with friends, settling into a warm bed, safe and sound and without the constant fear of his encroaching mortality -

_"These could be you, you know._ _"_

Maka stares out at Soul, gaze sharp and unyielding. Next to her, Wes pins him with eyes like chips of ice.

_"You wouldn't even have to choose,"_ they say in unison, and Wes’s arm drapes over Soul, who holds onto Maka and smiles into her hair _. "You could have it both. Your precious older brother, with pretty little Maka by your side. The two most important people in the world to you, safe and sound -"_

"All while they both die, in the real world," Soul sneers. "What kind of temptation is that?"

_"Six months_ _, Soul,"_ they taunt, and he stills, words dying on his tongue. _"That's all you have out there. Six months of searching for a brother beyond your reach, of traveling with a partner who you'll abandon in the end. Six months of looking like the monster you know you are."_

They walk towards him, descending from the mirror, and hands cold as glass caress his face. _"But not here_ ," they whisper. " _We could give you a lifetime. A lifetime of love, and safety, and freedom from the burdens you so eagerly shoulder to distract yourself._

_"Forget about your deal. Forget about Wes, robbed of the life he should have led. Forget about Maka, who you cajoled into accepting you as a partner."_

He closes his eyes, and warmth blooms along his cheeks from the press of their palms. He lets himself see the future they offer him here - days of spending time with Wes, nights of curling up with Maka, the comforts of having a permanent home. Years of joy, of safety, without fear or guilt. No more smiling and having people flinch away from him, no more listening to Oni’s incessant cajoling – no more worrying about dragging everyone he loves into this desperate spiral of self-inflicted misery and despair –

_“Stay with me, little brother,”_ he hears Wes breath, tender and loving, but his voice reminds him of another plea, another question he asked in another reality, one that Soul, finally, knows the answer to -

"You could make me happy," he murmurs. "But it's like you said." He opens his eyes. "No matter how many realities you spin for me, I'll always find a way to ruin it."

He shoves them away, flies at the mirror. Glass shatters as he lashes out with a fist, with his heel, and he screams, "I'll _ALWAYS_ -" another mirror smashed into fragments, "- _BE_ -" shards slicing through his flesh, black blood dripping down knuckles, "- _A MONSTER!"_ and every surface reflects his jagged teeth stretched into a rictus grin and crazed, blood-red irises before the bubbling pitch rises to cover everything -

He opens his eyes, still grinning. Four djinn stare at him, shocked, and Patty struggles in the arms of one behind them. " _How_ ," one of them gasps, as another whispers, "his _teeth_ , what _is_ he?" The corners of his mouth stretch further, because _that shark, babe, has such teeth[dear](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEllHMWkXEU). _ Their blood sings around him, swelling with the chorus, a perfect, harmonious melody, and he briefly savors its pure tone.

But then, Soul never did like _perfection_.

_and it shows them pearly whites_

The wrist closest to his face creaks, and the djinn shrieks as it's slowly bent forcefully backwards before snapping, hand flapping uselessly. A crack, and another one topples to the ground with a screech, cradling its leg.

It's easy! So easy! Just a little twist, just the pluck of an artery, the twang of a vein, and down they go. Gone was the pressure in his head, the straining to listen, to hear. Music flows into his ears, courses through him, and he _understands_ now, what his role is - he, the conductor, and they, the instruments, waiting to be tuned, to be played.

A cacophony of screams accompany the sound of fracturing bones as the djinn fall away like blades of grass to the scythe. He giggles, watching them writhe in agony on the floor. Across from him, Patty echoes his merriment, her high-pitched snickering a welcome addition to his symphony. Sheer savage joy surges through him, and he looms above the struggling monsters, feels his face contort into a mask of madness.

_ya know when that shark bites with his teeth, babe_

He tilts his head, cracking his neck further and further until everything looks sideways. Or is he just looking at the world the right way now? That means everyone else is wrong-side up, and that should be fixed. He raises his hands, beckoning the blood to follow, and the monsters wail as they're forced on to stand on twisted, broken limbs. A flick of the wrist, and they slam into the wall, the sound of their skulls bouncing off the concrete echoing throughout the cell.

One of the djinn glares at him, and the geometric lines of its tattoos flare with blue as it strains against his control, reaching with a trembling hand for the bare skin of his neck.

"Ah ah ah," he chastises, and crooks a finger. It freezes, rage turning into terror as Soul coaxes its circulation into obedience. It gags suddenly, choking, and blood spills from its mouth, teeth stained red as it vomits more onto the floor. Its eyes widen as its skin writhes, then they bulge as glistening red begins to ooze down its cheeks.

_scarlet billows start to spread_

A pop, and there's a sweet, metallic taste on Soul's lips as he's peppered with spray. Empty sockets stare blankly at him as blood continues to gush from them, and it sways lifelessly, held aloft by his grip on the sluggish flow quickly coagulating in its veins. A muted scream from its mate turns into a strangled hiss as its body turns on it, heart thrashing in its ribcage before suddenly seizing and imploding. One by one, Soul silences the screaming of their blood, their songs crescendoing into the final note of death.

"Soul!" Patty laughs, and he turns, releasing his hold on the bodies; they collapse, puppets with cut strings. "Soul, look at this one!" She points at the last of the monsters, hyperventilating and cramming its hands in its mouth, unable to tear its eyes away at its fallen kin. "What a stupid looking monster," Patty proclaims, tilting her head. "I want to see what it looks like without its tattoos. Do you think they're still there underneath the skin? Do you think it can still make itself glow without them?"

"That's a good question," Soul says gravely. "We should find out. Maka would want to know."

"Let me, let me!" Patty begs. "I can use it as a night light, to scare everything away." She raises her knife and advances, treading carefully in the puddle of blood still seeping from the corpse. The djinn shrinks back, gibbering, and Patty grins as she sinks the blade in its stomach and twists. A long, wordless groan coils from its throat, and the blood drips onto the floor -

_plit_

_plit_

Soul pauses. There was something familiar about that sound, something - something terrible and gut clenching, something that he'd do anything to prevent -

_plit_

_plit_

"Stop," he says, but the sound reverberates, rattles around in the depths of his mind. He clutches his ears, yelling now, " _STOP,"_ but it won't, it will never stop, Maka's life trickling to the floor in drips and spurts, her skin rapidly cooling even as he cradles her in his arms, his throat raw and voice rough as he begs her not to leave him, please, oh god, no no no -

_could be our boy's done something rash?_

Awareness crashes down on him, lucidity sluicing through his mind and flushing the madness out from the crevices of his brain. He gasps, stomach roiling at the carnage around him, and he vomits, black bile splashing down onto the ground.

Patty's hand is still on the hilt of her machete, sunken into the dead djinn. She blinks, frowning. "What…" She trails off, staring down at the junction between the blade and its abdomen.

Soul wipes his mouth, hands trembling. "We…we need to…to leave," he manages. He wobbles over to Maka, still sleeping, unaffected by Soul's loss of control. There's blood on her cheek, still warm to touch. He wipes it away with the pads of his fingertips. "Get Liz," he orders a still dazed Patty, who starts at the sound of his voice. She looks at him with frightened eyes. He repeats his order, more forceful this time, and she's spurred into action, letting go of the hilt as if it were a brand and disappearing into the hall.

"Maka," he whispers, clutching her hand, "Maka, what did I do?"

But Maka only breathes, face peaceful and unaware, and he touches his forehead to her own before lifting her up and carrying her out.

* * *

"They're still sleeping," Patty reports, shading her eyes as she looks through the window into the back seat of the jeep.

Soul grunts, barely hearing her. The bright sun of New Mexico struggles through the cover of clouds, and in its weak light it's easy to forget the prison and the monsters within it - easy to pretend that Liz and Maka are just taking a nap in the back of their cars. But his mind can't move past the ordeal in that darkened cell, can't stop remembering the power, the elation he felt as he tortured them, can't stop hearing the music in their screaming, in their blood -

He jumps as Patty punches his shoulder. "Earth to Soul, come in, Soul."

"What?" he snaps. "I said, I know. They're gonna keep sleeping, until they wake up by themselves or we find a way to wake them up from the outside."

"Yeah, well, any ideas on how to do that? 'Cause it's been, like, a day since we snuck into the prison and hours since we snuck out and they're not showing any signs of coming around."

Soul shakes his head.

Patty kicks at the dusty ground. Soul sags against the jeep, stares at the dirty laces of his shoes. The dirt doesn't quite cover the color of his soles, dried red-orange from the blood he stood in, the blood he pulled out of the djinn -

"You gonna tell me what happened?"

"Huh?" He tears his gaze away from his shoes, meets Patty's suspicious look. "What?"

"What happened," she says slowly, as if talking to a child, "to all of the djinn? One minute, I'm being dragged over to Maka's cell and watching them with all their hands crawling over you. Next minute you're awake and grinning like Christmas came early. Then all of the monsters are dead around us and I'm stabbing one and you look like death warmed over."

"It's not important," he says curtly. She narrows her eyes at him, and he shrugs off her scrutiny, saying, "Maka and Liz not waking up is the problem right now. How did you wake up?"

Her face shutters closed. "None of your business."

"It's all of our business if you figured out how to throw off the djinn's hallucinations! They could die -"

"What did you do to the djinn?" she demands.

Soul hunches further into his shoulders and barks back, "I _told_ you, it doesn't matter -"

"What _are_ you?!" She shoves at him, eyes flashing with anger. She grabs a handful of his hair, saying, "This isn't dyed, is it? And you don't wear contacts, and you don't file your teeth. It's all real, all of it, so what are you?"

He rips away from her, snarling, "W- why should I tell -"

"I swear to god," she says lowly. "I swear, if you - if you have some sort of power, some sort of way that you can wake them up, and you're not using it - if you're keeping them asleep, if you're planning on killing them, I'll gut you where you stand -"

"I would _NEVER_ hurt Maka!" he bellows. He catches her wrists as she attempts to strike at him, and shouts, "I would _never ever_ hurt her - I would do _anything_ to keep her safe, _ANYTHING!"_

His words whip around the deserted road, the wind whirling them around and around - _anything anything anything_.

Patty says nothing, but doesn't lower her hands. Her eyes are ruthless and without mercy, but it's through a sheen of tears that she glares at him, and her mouth trembles despite her fierce snarl.

He sighs, and releases her. "Maka died," he says quietly, rubbing at his face. "Six months ago, we were hunting, and she died. I made a deal with a demon to bring her back, in exchange for my soul, but…" He drops his eyes, fists clenching and unclenching. "It turns out I traded more than just that away."

A pause. "Oh," she murmurs, and finally her arms fall away from him.

"I don't know," he whispers. "I don't know what I am. This curse, it lets me manipulate the blood in people's bodies, but I'd never - never been able to do it that easily, and I'd never lost control of myself like that. And you - you seemed affected by it as well, and that had never happened before either."

"Can you help them?" Patty asks, voice small. "Can you make them wake up?"

"No," he says hollowly. "I don't think I can. And even if I could, I think - I think it would be better if I didn't, not with what happened back there." He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and lets it out slowly.

She falls silent, chewing on her lip. He takes the opportunity to peer in at Maka, but she's as still as ever, head lolled and pigtails dangling off the edge of the seat, mouth parted slightly, eyes slowly roaming back and forth beneath her eyelids.

"I - I can't help them either," Patty says suddenly.

Soul turns to her, blinks. "What?"

"You wanted to know, right?" She crosses her arms tightly over her chest. "How I woke up. What I saw." Her lip curls. "Here's the answer: _nothing._ It was just Liz, and me, hunting, picking up right from when we contacted you. You know how I knew it was a hallucination? Because Liz was too cheerful, too happy. She never complained once about hunting a spirit. We never went into a department store where we knew we couldn't afford the clothing, and she never fingered the fabric of some outfit and muttered about its quality. She never nagged me about keeping up with schoolwork or eating better or any of the things she feels like she has to make me do because she's responsible for me."

She kicks viciously at the tire of the jeep, growling, "My _wish_ was for my sister to not have any dreams or wishes. For her to not want to do anything but hunt, with me, for the rest of her life. Because I know that if she had a choice, she would leave this lifestyle and leave me and never look back."

"Patty -"

"I thought - I thought she was a monster. Thought she might have been a demon, or some sort of new shapeshifter, _something_." The pounding against the rubber slows. "So I - I stabbed her. I didn't - I didn't mean to - but she moved, and she - I -" Her foot lowers to the ground as she says, "And then, when she didn't…didn't change back, didn't get up and mock me, when she just…laid there, in her blood, I couldn't - couldn't -"

"Couldn't go on without her," Soul finishes quietly.

She jerks her head in a nod. "Yeah." She sniffs, wipes her nose with the back of her wrist. "Yeah. You too then?"

"Mmm. I wasn't as…wasn't as quick as you were, to figure it out - no," he says abruptly. "No, I - I knew. I just didn't _want_ to know. And maybe, if I had -"

"It wouldn't have mattered," Patty says firmly. "Would have been stuck in there anyway, would have gotten caught by them when we went to rescue Sis and Maka."

"…Maybe," he concedes. "Either way, that doesn't help us, or them." He sighs, flicks sand off the side mirror. "Guess we could try going back to Stein and Spirit. They won't know what to do, but we could at least get them hooked up to an IV, make sure they don't starve or die of thirst -"

"What about your other friend?" Patty interrupts.

"…Who?"

"Last time when Maka and me teamed up to find you and Sis, she called someone. Sue…Sue something. She helped us, did some sort of spell or something to find you guys…"

"Sue - you mean Tsubaki?"

"Yeah, her!"

"She's a witch who specializes in demons," Soul says, frowning. "I don't think she'd know anything about djinn, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask…"

Tsubaki, when she answers the phone, seems a bit harried, voice breathless as she says, "Hello, Maka?"

"Ah - this is Soul, actually."

"Soul?" The phone crackles as she shifts it, and her voice is louder in his ear when she says, "Why are you using Maka's phone? Is everything okay?"

She listens quietly as Soul explains their situation, finishing it up with, "So I know it's a long shot, but would you happen to know -"

"A way to wake them up?" She hums. "I don't know about djinn…but there is a creature in Japan that sounds somewhat similar. A baku disables its prey by causing terrible nightmares, and I think I remember seeing a remedy for them in one of the family's old spellbooks…"

 "R-Really?" Soul blurts, gripping the phone tighter.

"I can't be certain that it would work, but -"

"Anything would be worth a try at this point," Soul says, hope lightening the weight on his shoulders. Patty shoves her face next to his to hear, and he pushes her away. "We're in Santa Fe right now - we could be in Prescott before midnight, probably."

"Ah…" There's a long pause on the other end of the line.

"…Or, um," Soul amends awkwardly, "you could try to, uh, guide us through it over the phone…"

"No, no," Tsubaki says immediately. "I was - I was just figuring out if I would need to clear another room - did you say there were four of you?"

"Yes, but we could get a motel or something, you don't need to host us." Or hell, he and Patty could just sleep in the jeep or something. He's pretty sure he's clocked in more hours unconscious in the car than he had in actual beds over the past couple of years anyway.

"No, I think we'll be able to manage," Tsubaki says, sounding distracted.

"Could I get your address again? …Tsubaki?"

"Ah, sorry, yes." He draws the address in the dust settled on the window of the jeep. "I'll find that recipe," she says. "I should have the ingredients handy, but if not I could probably get it from Eruka…"

"Great. Thank you, Tsubaki, seriously. We'll see you in…Tsubaki?" No answer - she must have already hung up.

Patty's eyes shine as she clutches his sleeve. "She can help us? She can wake Sis up?"

"Maybe," Soul says, but a relieved smile threatens to ruin his caution. "Hurry up and get in your car. It's going to be a long drive there."

* * *

She's staring out the window at fresh snowfall on the ground, flakes feathering down from the sky and settling on the skeletonized trees and salted walkways. It makes the campus look like one of the pictures in the children's books she used to pour over, back when she was living in Oklahoma and the closest she got to winter wonderland was just a light dusting on the ground.

"Maka Albarn?"

She startles. The TA looks at her from over the stack of graded papers, frowning, and Maka nearly bangs her knee on the desk as she gets up.

Heart pounding in her chest, she accepts her corrected exam, and marches stiffly back to her seat. She flips the paper upside down so she can't see her grade. The pure sheen of the snow outside is traded for the taunting white of her exam as she stares down at it, heart beating fast. She's pretty sure she did well - she'd been studying for this for months, had gone over study guides and practice tests until she could close her eyes and visualize every question. But waiting until after class to check her marks had become a habit, ever since she had first entered public school at eleven and refused to let anyone see her tears at another subpar grade that her scattered schooling had earned her.

Still though. It had been a long time since she had done poorly enough on a test to warrant that kind of reaction, and she really _had_ felt confident in almost all of her answers. She toys with the edge of the paper, warring between curiosity and superstition. Maybe she could just look at the last page, see if there were any corrections…

Chairs scrape as the other students begin to get up and stuff their books into their bags. Tradition still intact, Maka wastes no time in flipping her exam over. A proud grin breaks over her face as the score of 90/90 beams back at her, and she nods, satisfied, as she slips it into a folder and shoulders her backpack.

She passes from the classroom into the hallway, still riding the high of a perfect score. Papa will be so proud when she calls tonight, she thinks - maybe this time she'd ask for some Linzer cookies for the celebratory care package he'd insist on sending her. And she couldn't wait to tell -

Who?

For just the briefest moment, there's a feeling of…not loss, not exactly. More like a feeling of _lacking_ , a longing for something she couldn't even describe. It nags at her, a sense of mourning for something she knows she's never even had to lose in the first place, the phantom limb of an emotion she's never experienced.

She must have been thinking about telling Black*Star, she decides, though somewhere in her heart of hearts she knows it's not the same - that it's not him that fits into the hollowed-out shape in her soul. But who else could it be?

It doesn't matter, and it’s easy to let the glow of victory sweep the dull foreign ache aside. She'll go out with Meme and Anya tonight, have some fun, and focus on the fact that she's one tiny step closer to making her dream of graduating college come true.

That happy thought fades quickly, however, when she finds herself standing in the middle of a completely empty hallway. There's no chatter, no bustle of movement – everything is still and silent, waiting.

"Hello…?" she ventures, feeling dread quiver in her stomach.

No response.

The floor below her begins to fade, muted yellow darkening into mustard, then to umber. Around her, the lockers melt away, walls dissolving into black. She takes a few panicked steps backwards as the tiles she's standing on starts to vanish, then starts to run as darkness creeps upward. But there's nowhere to run, nothing visible in the void that was her college only a few seconds ago, and soon even she is swallowed up -

She's staring at blobs of white and brown. Something resembling a spider moves into her field of view, and she blinks, recognizes it as a tanned hand, the blobs as pillow, sheets and a night stand.

"Maka?" someone says, and she turns her head

A man frowns down at her, shaggy white hair framing a face filled with concern. She meets his gaze, and eyes the color of dark red wine widen, then soften.

"Maka," he breathes, a warm hand slipping in hers. "You're awake," and the sheer relief in his voice gives her pause and stops her from instinctively trying to break his fingers.

"Who -" She swallows, trying to ease the roughness in her throat. "Who are you?" she asks. "Where am I?"

His face stutters, falling briefly. "It's me, Soul. Your partner. We're at Tsubaki's -"

"Partner?" she echoes, confused. "For like, lab?"

His brow creases, and he answers, "No, your - your hunting partner. Remember?" He leans forward, chair creaking, and takes her other hand in his, saying, "You've been in a dream-coma for the last two days. They were djinn, Maka, not vampires like Liz and Patty thought, and they captured all of us, but Patty and I were able to snap out of it -"

"Djinn? Vampires?" Something begins to tickle in the back of her brain, something - something harsh, hardened and weary, the cold reality beginning to bleed in and leech away at her fantasies.

"- got out of there, but you and Liz wouldn't wake up, so we called Tsubaki…" He continues to talk, but Maka's not listening anymore. Memories settle over her like another skin - the taste of blood on her tongue, the strain of her muscles as she hacks through a neck, driving and driving with no place to call home, no place to belong to -

"Soul," she says suddenly.

He pauses mid-word, and peers closely at her with a worried frown. "Yes, Maka?"

" _Soul_ ," she says again, this time with weight, understanding, and she reaches up, touches his face.

"M-Maka?" His cheek is hot against her palm, and he looks at her intently, eyes darkening.

Tears begin to leak down her face, and Soul's expression immediately drops into one of surprised distress. "S - Soul," and her voice wavers, hitching into a sob. He gathers her into his arms and she buries her face into his shirt, weeping as she clings to his solid presence, the only solid presence she has in this fucked up life she leads.

"W-why?" she manages, muffled into his chest. "Why? I don't - I don't want -"

"I know," he says, arms around her tightening ever so slightly. His voice is thin and worn as he says again, "I know. I'm sorry."

He stays there with her as she mourns, holding her close through the long, desolate night.


	5. the witch

Maka sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps. Soul is half worried that whatever herbal concoction that Tsubaki gave her didn't really work, but she assures him that it's normal to need some time for adjustment, especially after having been brought out of such a long period of hallucination.

He stays with her at first, watching her fitful sleep from the oversized armchair that Tsubaki brought in for him once he made it clear that he and Maka do not routinely share the same bed. He's tempted to abandon it to sneak in beside her; the chair is deeply uncomfortable after a solid six hours of sitting on it, and the little rest he does get usually leaves him with terrible neck and leg cramps. It's hard too, in other ways - in the deepest throes of sleep, Maka looks too much like she did when under the djinn's spell, and it's only his worry over the lingering aftereffects of the ordeal that keeps him from rousing her to make sure she _can_ be awakened.

What ultimately causes him to resign his post, though, is the way she looks at him minutes after her eyes flutter open. Sleepy contentment gives way to an expression of befuddlement at his slouched form, before realization and remembrance crash down on her and deep sorrow takes its place.

The couch is more comfortable, anyway, even if the nightmares ensure he gets no more sleep than he did at her side, even if the ceiling acts as a screen to play out what happened in his dreams and in that dark cell, even if Maka isn't there to ward away the sickening remembrance of the madness and power he wielded.

He can feel the echoes it left behind, tendrils leaking from the crack in his mind. The faint cackles of Oni slither under the door to that black room, and he clutches his hands to his ears, buries it with thoughts of Maka, of her pale, wan face and drooping smile.

Liz doesn't seem to be taking it much better either, not that he's seen much of her since Patty and he towed her into the other room. She'd woken up fine, according to Tsubaki and Patty, but was also having some difficulty snapping out of it. At least she still has an appetite, judging by the amount of food Patty ferries to her. She, he sees more often, crossing pathways as they check in on their respective partners. There's a familiar weariness in Patty's eyes when they meet his, bright blue dulled with fatigue and guilt, but there's conviction in it as well, an assuredness that Soul can't relate to.

The door to Liz and Patty's shared room is cracked open one morning as he goes to brush his teeth. A quick glance around reassures him that Patty is nowhere to be seen, and he peers in, eyes adjusting to the dimness of the room. Sheets are pooled around Liz, speaking of restless nights, and her knees are drawn up beneath her chin. Long dark blonde hair forms a curtain down her shoulders, hiding her face as she stares out the window. She doesn't move, barely breathes, even though he knows she heard his footsteps, heard him pause at the threshold of the room. A few minutes later, he quietly closes the door behind him, leaving her to her thoughts.

In between brooding over his partner and trying to stave off the memories of anything having to do with the prison and the djinn, Soul does his best to be useful around Tsubaki's place. She resists his help at first, insisting that he focus on Maka's recovery instead of doing the dishes, but a day or two after he relocates to the couch she takes pity on him. His restless energy is redirected from pacing to assisting her with her business of supplying tea and herbs to both witches and non-witches alike. He weeds, waters and collects the plants she grows, hanging them up to dry out in the basement. He and Patty together are tasked with sorting and gathering the dried leaves into satchels and jars. Soon after he leaves a message for her about running to the store, he's assigned to labelling all of her products in his “beautiful” scroll. It's monotonous work at times, but it does give his hands something to do besides tearing out his hair.

He's skimming the paper early one morning as he crushes dried lavender into powder. Tsubaki sits across from him, tapping away at her laptop as she tallies up the accounts receivable for the month. Every few minutes, the sound of typing stops briefly, and she stares off into the distance with a small frown, furrow between her brows, before shaking her head and resuming her work. He opens his mouth a few times to try and ask her what's wrong, hoping it's not their intrusion into her home, but ends up clamming up and dropping his gaze. It's not his place, he tries to tell himself - it'd be rude to pry. And he knows that best of all - aside from a brief once-over followed by a slower, assessing gaze directed at his hair, eyes, and mouth, she hasn't said anything about his changed appearance. He's more grateful than he should be about that.

It's habit more than any real interest that makes his gaze catch on a headline. _Mysterious Murder in Williamson_ , it declares, and the grinding of the pestle slowly peters out as he reads further.

"Tsubaki?"

She jumps, and fixes a polite smile on her face. "Yes?"

"Did you hear about this?" he asks, sliding the paper across the table to her.

She scans the title, then the article, then shakes her head. "No, I haven't. Why?"

"Mm." Soul sets the mortar and pestle aside and takes the article back. "It just seems...strange is all. Our kind of strange. Have there been any other murders or deaths around here lately?"

"I don't think so. I would have heard of it if so; Prescott is a fairly small town."

"Any local legends about the area? Or anything happen that was...unusual or out of place?"

Her mouth turns downwards, and something flits behind her eyes, but before he can try to identify it she lowers them to the laptop and begins to type again. "No, not that I've noticed."

"Hmm," he says again, unconvinced. He picks up the pestle again and begins to further reduce the dried herbs into dust. He doesn't miss the way Tsubaki's shoulders relax marginally at the sound, nor how they tense up again as he says, casually, "Maybe we'll take a look around, just in case."

"Oh no, you don't have to do that," Tsubaki says quickly. "Maka is still recovering, and I wouldn't want to trouble you with what may be nothing."

"I'll go by myself." He reaches for one of the large jars and unscrews the cap. "You saved Maka and Liz's lives - the least I can do is make sure there's nothing that could be threatening yours."

"If you're sure," Tsubaki murmurs. "Though I'm quite capable of defending myself."

"Trust me, I know, but it's not just you that I'd be concerned about -"

Shuffling and the protesting of floorboards. "What's going on?" Maka asks.

"Maka!" He scrambles out of his seat and towards her, newspaper still in hand.

She gives him a tired smile. "Hey," she says, and he can feel the pink beginning to dust his cheeks as he watches her lips, mind bringing up the unbidden sensation of the way they felt against his own -

Tension on the paper startles him out of his daydreams, and he takes a jerky step backwards as she invades his space. She doesn't notice, already scanning the words, but over her shoulder Tsubaki raises an eyebrow. He scowls at her knowing look, furiously wishing for the heat in his face to cool.

" 'Franklin Scott, 52, was found dead in his home Monday afternoon'," Maka reads aloud. " 'According to the medical examiners, he suffered from internal damage believed to be made by a sharp weapon, though no wounds were found on the body…' " She falls silent, eyes flicking down the page, and Soul's eyes are helplessly drawn to her mouth again as it pursues in contemplation.

He forces his gaze away. "Thought I might check it out," he says, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Might be something, might not be, but -"

She's already turning away, saying, "Let me go grab my jacket."

"Whoa, wait, no." He grabs her arm, and says again, "No, Maka, you're still not…uh…"

"I'm fine, Soul," she says, a little sharply.

"But you're still...you haven't really -"

"Recovered?" Her bare skin glides against his palm as she extracts herself from his hand. "I've been dre - sleeping long enough. Something might be out there and it's our job to find out what, and to kill it." She nods decisively, and the conviction in her tone might have fooled him once, but he can hear the hollowness behind her words.

"...If you're sure," he mutters, but she's already gone.

Tsubaki tilts her head at him. "You know, I can arrange for the couch to be conveniently unavailable to sleep on -"

"Don't you start," he growls, slapping the paper down. "It's not - we're - I -" _want you_ , breath whispering over his skin, and he shakes his head violently, though it fails to dispel the remembrance of her body underneath his. "Just - we'll be back soon."

"I'll come with you," Tsubaki says, arising from her chair. "Patty will be here to watch Liz, and can finish making powder of the other herbs while she does so."

"We don't have any sort of cover story for you though," Soul says, frowning. "And isn't there a chance they'll recognize you?"

"Soul, please," she says, tossing her hair. "I don't need a disguise." She graces him with a small, confident smile. "I'm a witch."

* * *

Maka has to hand it to Tsubaki - it's much, much easier gaining access to crime scenes with her around. A simple muttered incantation and a satchel of sweet smelling herbs around their necks and the police don't even notice as they walk right in through the front door.

The house itself is a standard, one bedroom one bathroom affair, the likes of which she's hunted in many a time. There's the strong smell of cigarettes, and a few abstract paintings line walls yellowed by smoke. Maka takes out the EMF meter, twists the knob to turn it on, and advances further into the small house.

"What is that?" Tsubaki asks, delicately picking her way around toppled shoes.

"It's an electromagnetic field detector," Soul explains as Maka holds it out in front of her and runs it along the doorway to the kitchen. "It can detect the EMFs given off by ghosts - it'll light up and make noise if there's a spirit involved."

The meter crackles idly as Maka enters the cramped and cluttered kitchen. Jenga towers of dishes shift uneasily in the sink, and various empty soda cans and beer bottles line up on top of a sickly green counter. The door to a tiny microwave yawns open, old meals splattered on the insides. Despite the mess, it feels familiar to Maka, and it takes her a minute to remember why, to sort through the memories of _real_ and _not real_.

Narrow space barely large enough for two people to squeeze past each other…fridge crammed in so close to the wall and the counters that you couldn't open the drawer and the door at the same time…

Huntington, West Virginia, the little house on Crane Street that they had rented briefly - the first non-motel kitchen she'd ever experienced outside of Black*Star's house. Papa had kept it spotless, had slowly filled up the bare shelves and cabinets with food staples and cooking equipment that they hadn't had the room to carry around with them before. _A magpie_ , Mama called him, squirreling away his prized possessions in hollows of wood and plyboard.

Even at nine, Maka had heard the undercurrent of criticism in her voice, the way the nine-to-five job at the factory and the restlessness that plagued her had stretched Mama thin and her patience thinner. Papa did too, and would fuss and cluck and peck at Mama's lips until she laughed, shoulders easing as he tugged at her short hair. Taking advantage of Papa's distraction, Maka would wrap her arms around her mother's legs, declaring "I got her, I got her!" before being swept up into her strong embrace and squeezed between her parents. "You got me, little shadow," she'd say, husky voice laced with amusement and pride -

Someone nudges her. "You okay?" Soul asks, and she realizes she's just standing in the middle of the room, staring at the overflowing trash bag sagging against the wall.

"Yeah," she says, mentally shoving memories of happier times away. She holds the meter out in front of her, and begins to run it down the countertops.

Down near the peeling linoleum it lights up like a Christmas tree, emitting high-pitched whines. They look at each other.

"Ghost," Soul says.

"Ghost," Maka agrees.

"Ghost?" Tsubaki echoes. "Are you sure? Surely there's other entities that give off EMFs."

"Not likely," Maka answers, and turns off the meter. "Any ghost stories about this place that you know about, Tsubaki?"

"Not that I know of." She taps a finger to her chin, face still and closed. "Though I suppose I could ask the coven about it. They may know more."

"When is your next meeting?"

"We convene every new moon, so in about three days."

"Good. Until then though…" Maka says, brightening, "we'll hit the -"

"Library," Soul sighs.

"Library!" Maka exclaims, grin breaking over her face.

"You're such a nerd, Maka," Soul grumbles. "Who _wants_ to be surrounded by dusty old books and stare at words until your eyes go crossed?"

"Shut up, Soul, most of the time you just nap in there anyway, I'm the one looking at microfilms and pulling texts."

"You spend _hours_ in there, Maka, so sue me if I get tired after seven straight hours of reading," he grumbles, but sends her a fond look. "I think you'd live there if they didn't close."

"Listen, some of my best memories have taken place in the library," she defends, and they run through her head: Papa carrying her on his shoulders and letting her pick out books for him to read to her; Soul dropping a snack in the middle of the book she'd been reading before taking his place next to her and frowning over the words; putting the finishing touches on her study guide for the last class of her first semester of college and knowing that she'd prepared as well as she could for the test tomor -

She feels her smile droop, melt off her face. Soul, ever watchful, seems to catch her remorse because the familiar look of empathy settles in his eyes. He begins to reach for her, but she turns away, unable to bear his understanding.

"To the library," she says quietly, and they leave.

* * *

The sun sits low in the sky when they get back to Tsubaki's house. She holds the door open for them, helping steady the precarious stack of books in their hands as Maka and Soul slip by her.

They're almost bowled over by Patty as soon as she crosses into the foyer. "You have to find her," Patty says immediately, zeroing on Tsubaki. "I just - I went to make her some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches because she was hungry but when I came back she wasn't there and I thought maybe she went to the bathroom but it was empty and -"

"Slow down, Patty," Soul says. "Liz is gone?"

Patty's head bobs rapidly. "The car's gone too, and I don't know - don't know where she went -"

"We'll find her," Tsubaki soothes. "She can't have gone far. How long has it been?"

"Half an hour," Patty responds as Tsubaki makes for her study. "...She was getting _better_ ," she mutters, clenching her hands into fists. "She had been getting out of bed, asking for food...looking me in the eye..."

"She probably just needed some air." Soul places a hand on Patty's shoulder. "She's been sitting in bed for a while. Maybe the effects finally wore off. Maka wanted to get out today too, right?"

Two pairs of eyes, one hopeful and one warning, turn to her. "Y-yeah," Maka says, arranging her face in what she hopes is a reassuring expression. "I, um, finally didn't feel so sleepy today, so I went with Soul to the library."

Some of the fear slips from Patty's stance, and Soul throws her a grateful look. "She did leave all of her stuff here," Patty mumbles.

"She wouldn't leave you, Patty," Soul says quietly. Her head snaps up, gaze fierce, but Soul crosses his arms and frowns down at her. Something passes between the two, something that Maka can't parse, but in the end Patty relocates her gaze to her shoes and sags into him. "She wouldn't," Soul says again, softer still, and Patty moves her head in what could be interpreted as a nod.

Tsubaki comes back with what looks like a pamphlet and some sort of tripod. The pamphlet turns out to be a map of the immediate area, and she places it in the middle of the dining room table before unfolding the tripod and standing its legs on the corners of the map. A pendulum hangs from the center, pointed needle swaying slightly.

"Elizabeth Thompson, correct?" Tsubaki asks as she surveys her work.

"Yeah," Patty confirms, and Tsubaki lets loose a few sentences in Latin. The pendulum begins to move in lazy circles, then pauses over -

"Are you sure that it worked?" Maka asks, skeptical.

"Positive," Tsubaki replies. "Liz appears to be somewhere along Deep Well Ranch Road, near its intersection with highway 89."

Patty snatches the map off the table, nearly knocking the pendulum to the ground. "Let's go then!"

"Maybe..." Tsubaki hesitates, worrying away at her lip. "Maybe it's best if just one of us goes. She clearly wanted to be alone, and she might get overwhelmed if all of us go to fetch her..."

Patty crosses her arms, looking as if she wants to argue, but Soul cuts her off. "You're probably right. I can go then -"

"No," Maka says. "I'll go."

The three look at her. "You sure, Maka?" Soul says, frowning. "You and Liz haven't really, uh..." He hesitates.

"It'll be fine," Maka says, already turning away. "I'll take the jeep."

Patty follows her outside, sullen. "Make her come back," she says, clearly trying to sound threatening but it comes out more as a plea.

"We'll be back before dinnertime," Maka promises, giving her a smile. Patty's solemn gaze bores into the back of her head as she gets into the jeep, and she can still feel it on her as she pulls out of the driveway and gets on the road.

She guides the car down dusty backroads, squinting through shafts of light from the sinking sun. The angry slant of the Thompson's Challenger taillights glare at her from the side of the road, and sure enough, there's Liz, perched on the hood, one leg propped up against the bumper.

She doesn't move as Maka pulls in behind her and gets out of the car. Sunbeams trace the gold in her hair and the blank, tired expression on her face as she takes a drag from her cigarette. The car sinks below Maka as she takes a seat next to her, and Liz wordlessly holds out the pack. Maka shakes her head, and Liz doesn't even shrug, just stows it back in her jacket and breathes another lungful of smoke.

They watch the sun melt into the horizon, settling back into the cradle of the distant mountains before turning over to sleep. Shadows stretch across the ground to replace the fading colors, and the wind begins to run cold fingers down Maka's exposed skin. Liz's cigarette glows red in the encroaching dark, and the smoke that drifts from it rises to meld with the deepening sky.

After a while, Liz sighs and flicks it onto the ground, stubbing it out with a practiced toe.

"Ready to head back?" Maka asks, breaking the silence.

Liz snorts. "Do I have much of a choice?"

Maka doesn't say anything, just pulls her leather jacket around her tighter.

Sparks from the lighter, and the smell of smoke. Another cigarette dangles from Liz's fingers as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her thighs, staring out at nothing.

"Patty's worried," Maka says eventually. "About you."

"Mmm."

"...Soul's worried too, about me," she says, quieter. "Keeps hovering over me, trying to keep me awake, looking at me like...like I haven't really gotten over the poison, haven't really woken up. But..." Her hands fist, balling up the hem of the jacket. "Why would I want to be awake in the first place?"

At this, Liz pauses, takes the cigarette out of her mouth.

"It's not fair." The wind robs her words away, and Maka says, louder, "It's not _fair_."

"It's not," Liz murmurs, and sighs. "Patty's the same way. Looks at me with those big blue hopeful eyes, expecting me to be happy that I'm not dreaming, that I'm back with her, and I just - I can't..."

She's quiet for a moment, then says, with utter conviction, "I love Patty. Been taking care of her since she was born. That's never changed, and it never will." She inhales, looking out. "Sometimes," she says quietly, "it feels like she's the only thing that keeps me going anymore.

"I was eighteen when the vamps got my parents. Came home to them draining the kid from the apartment next door." Liz flicks ashes into the wind. "Patty was smart. Knew something was wrong, locked herself in a closet with a baseball bat. Didn't know that though, not then. I saw them hovering over a body, mouths all bloody, trading bites, and I thought that they had…that Patty…" She trails off, fingers tap tap tapping the cigarette against the chipped paint on the car. "I killed them," she says finally. "Turns out if you do enough brain damage to a vamp, it'll die even if its head hasn't been cut off. Found Patty, who almost beaned me until I convinced her I wasn't one of them, packed up our stuff, ran. Been running ever since."

She sighs. "I was eighteen, you know? It sounds stupid, but I had dreams. I wanted to go into fashion. To get my own label. I used to dress up all stylish for Fashion Week in NYC, parade outside in hopes that someone would take a picture or recognize me or something." She laughs bitterly. "Stupid, right? I know better now. The only colors that matter are ones that make it easy to hide bloodstains. Nail polish is only useful for strengthening your nails so you can keep 'em long and sharp. Accessories are just one extra thing for vamps to grab when they're trying to kill you."

She goes silent, cigarette dangling between her fingers.

"…My mama was a hunter," Maka says. "So was her mama before that, and her parents before her. I grew up on monster stories, and how to kill them." She plays with a loose thread on her sleeve. "I - I did really well in school. And I liked it, a lot more than I did hunting. But Mama was a hunter, the best, and I loved her. I wanted to be like her, going around the country and saving people. And I didn't want to disappoint her."

She draws her knees to her chest, lays her cheek on them. "I never...never thought that I'd be missing so much," she whispers. "Going to a normal school. Making friends. Doing things for fun, spending money on something frivolous like an amusement park, or a movie. Finding something that I really _like_ and being able to learn about it from other people instead of a fourth-hand textbook with half of the pages ripped out or the answers written in. Having a house - having a _home_." She glares at her boots, laces ragged and soles worn, before bursting out, "And all it took was Mama dying when I was young enough to still dream."

The night stars glitter above them, savage in their cold disregard. Looking up at them, at their dispassionate disdain, Maka feels stupid, stupid and naive for ever thinking that she could be something more than another knife in the dark, another broken soldier trying to stem the relentless tide of evil. She curls into herself, burying her anger, her outrage, her despair, leaving nothing but her constant companions of echoing emptiness and sharp apathy.

Liz's shoulder brushes her own as she leans back, contemplating the sky above them. "...Fuck the djinn," she mutters. "Fuck this world."

"Fuck them both," Maka agrees.

Liz sighs, stretches and pushes off of the car. "Not much for it though," she says. "Not fair to our partners and not fair to ourselves to keep wallowing in dreams that can't ever happen."

"Yeah. They're probably both worried sick about us now," and she can see Soul so clearly in her mind, trying to casually lean against the couch but never tearing his gaze from the window, long fingers running through chords on his thighs, face wound tight with distress. "We should probably head back."

"Yeah. I think - think Patty and I are gonna head out tomorrow morning. Gotta find something to keep busy with, something to kill."

"Anything in particular?"

Liz shrugs. "Vamps, werewolves, fuck, I'll even take ghouls at this point. Anything to remind me, you know?"

"Yeah," Maka replies, and she does. "You could, um, stick around for this case, if you wanted. I don't think it's anything more than a simple ghost, probably will be quick with four of us..."

"No thanks," Liz says, shuddering. "Not that desperate. Spirits give me the creeps."

"Really?" Maka asks. "But they're a dime a dozen, and it's not like they're really sentient..."

"Noooope nope nope."

"Wow," Maka says, teasing smile spreading over her face. "Didn't know you were such a scaredy cat."

Liz scowls. "They're creepy and wrong, don't care what anyone says." She twirls the keys on her index finger and opens the Challenger's driver's side door. "Get back to your car. Let's go let our partners know that we didn't decide to ditch them and run off to lala land, and get dinner while we're at it. I'm starving."

* * *

The next morning, Soul helps Patty bring their luggage down to the Challenger. The day is relatively warm for January, clear and sunny, and he's grateful to be able to help this time without worrying about straining something or popping his stitches. He swings the suitcase into the backseat with ease, feeling his muscles coil and respond without strain or exertion, and shakes off the sudden wave of otherness, the remembrance of a body in far less shape.

"That it?" he asks Patty, who hefts an oversize backpack in the trunk.

"Yup!" The trunk slams and she comes back to him. "Thanks for the help, grumpy!"

"I'm not - oh, whatever," he grumbles, feeling his lower lip stick out in a pout. "See if I ever let you have my helping of french fries again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Patty says, grinning. "But, um..." The smile falls of her face, and she scuffs at the ground. "Thanks. Really. For Liz, and everything."

"Sure," Soul says. "Anytime you want to get kidnapped with me, just let me know. Hell, it seems to be a running theme with you sisters. Don't happen to have another one that I can expect to get tied up with next month, do you?"

Patty giggles, and shakes her head. When she looks at him again, the laughter has dimmed from her eyes, and something more serious and shrewd has replaced them. "For the record," she says, "I think you're as human as they come."

"Huh?"

"You know what I've found is the difference between a human and a monster?" she asks, tilting her head. "Humans doubt. They think, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I've been hurting people who don't deserve it. Maybe that needs to change, maybe I need to stop, find another way. But not monsters. They kill and kill and eat without ever asking themselves if what they're doing is right or wrong."

"I mean, I doubt I'm going to develop a taste for human flesh anytime soon," Soul says, "but that could describe a lot of people who don't routinely get their source of nutrition from long pig."

Patty shakes her head. "Not all hunters are human, Soul. And not all monsters drink blood or kill innocent people."

"...Yeah, maybe," he concedes, and she tosses him a triumphant smile before skipping off to where the others are saying goodbyes.

He follows, takes his place beside Maka, doing his best not to either jump away from or lean into her shoulder as it brushes against his. Patty throws her arms around Tsubaki as she presses some freshly baked cookies into Liz's hands.

“Thanks for letting us crash here," Liz says. "And for making sure we didn't die in our sleep." She gives her a slow, approving nod. “Glad to see that Patty and Maka were right about you being not like all the other witches.”

Tsubaki’s smile is only the slightest bit strained as she cautions, "Just try to stay as active as you can without overexerting yourself. It'll help you shake the effects off sooner."

Liz's eyes flick to Maka's briefly before they focus back on Tsubaki. "Yeah," she says. "I'll do that."

The gentle sound of gongs and chimes rings out, and Tsubaki pulls out her phone, apologizing profusely and stepping back inside to take the call.

"Come on, Sis, it's time to goooo -"

"Soul," Liz says, ignoring Patty's whining. She holds out her hand to shake. "Thanks again, for everything."

"Make sure it's actually vampires this time," Soul says as he takes it, corner of his mouth inching up in a smile. "Gave you some new tunes too. Hope you like."

Liz's expression lights up with anticipation. "Hell yes, I'll let you know."

She turns to Maka, hand extended, but Maka brushes it aside and hugs her instead. She whispers something that Soul can't hear into her ear, but something settles in Liz's eyes, hard and determined, and when Maka pulls back she gives her a rueful smile.

"Good luck," Maka says softly.

"You too," Liz says, before giving everyone one last nod and joining Patty in the car. The lights flare on, and they pull out onto the street, Patty waving furiously from the passenger seat.

"Hope they'll be okay," Soul says, waving goodbye as they drive away.

"They will be," Maka says with confidence. "They have to."

When they reenter the house, they're treated to the sight of a paling Tsubaki, clutching the phone tight enough to show the whites of her knuckles.

"I understand," she says, tone as calm as ever. "Yes. Tonight, then, at eight. I'll ask – okay. …Goodbye."

"Who was that?" Maka asks.

Tsubaki sighs, rubs her fingers into her forehead. "One of our witches died last night. Mizune." She shakes her head, sighing. "I've called an emergency meeting, so I'm sorry but I'll won't be able to fix dinner -"

"Wait," Maka says, holding out a hand. "Another murder?"

"...It seems that way," Tsubaki says reluctantly. "Eruka was quite insistent on that point, though she does tend to be paranoid."

"So, we had a murder less than a week ago, and now another one, in the same town?"

"Probably related," Soul agrees.

"I think we should come to this meeting," Maka says, frowning.

"We don't typically allow outsiders..."

"If one of the witches in your coven was the victim of a ghost, then they might all be in danger. And I'm willing to bet you don't routinely deal with ghosts, since you didn't know what the EMF meter was, right?"

Tsubaki looks torn, fiddling with the tip of her ponytail as her eyes dart back and forth between them and the phone. She seems to come to a decision quickly, though, because her face suddenly smooths, and her hands fall away from her hair.

"Yes, I suppose that would be best." She gives them a smile. "Very well."

* * *

The light on the top floor of the tea shop that Tsubaki takes them to is already on when they arrive, and she parallel parks between a pink Volkswagen Beetle and maroon Mini-Cooper.

Tiny chimes tinkle as Tsubaki unlocks the door and pushes it open. They walk past small tables with elegantly sculptured legs and chairs with delicate wicker patterns, and Maka eyes the wall-to-floor shelves containing cylinders of tea and fancy-looking china.

Tsubaki motions for them to take their shoes off, and they ascend the carpeted staircase to the living area above.

Three women lounge around a couch and coffee table upstairs. Each sports a different hair color - the pink-haired one has her legs on the lap of a woman with hair black as midnight, posing primly at the edge of her seat, while the last has tresses nearly the shade of Soul's and fidgets nervously with her dress. The one thing that they all share, though, is the unwelcoming stares they fix Maka and Soul with as they enter the room.

"Kim. Jackie. Eruka," Tsubaki says as she kneels to sit across from them. "I'm sorry that we're meet -"

"Who are they?" Pinkie interrupts, narrowing her eyes.

"This is Maka and Soul, my friends," she replies, with a slight emphasis on 'friends'. "Maka and Soul, this is Kim," she nods to Pinkie, "Jackie," the dark-haired girl frowns, "and Eruka," the last of whom has dropped her gaze back to the fabric between her fingers.

"New witches?" Jackie asks, sounding more accusatory than curious. "You haven't mentioned them before."

"Ah...not exactly -"

"We're hunters," Maka says bluntly, seeing no point in beating around the bush. There's a collective gasp from the three. Tsubaki closes her eyes briefly and Soul jabs her in the side with his elbow.

"Tsubaki," Jackie says, voice trembling with anger or fear, Maka can't tell which, "please explain to us _why_ you brought a pair of killers in our midst."

"They're not -"

" _We're_ going to be doing our damnedest to save you," Maka snaps, "so I'd suggest calling us by our names."

" 'Save us?' " Kim repeats. "A _hunter_? How stupid do you think we are? The only time hunters are interested in witches are when they're gonna kill them."

"Pretty damn stupid if you think you don't need our help -"

"Enough!" Tsubaki says forcefully, as Soul hisses Maka's name, gripping her wrist.

The three glare at each other, air sizzling with hatred and long held grudges, before Tsubaki sighs. "Soul, Maka, come sit so we can better discuss the issue at hand."

"But -"

" _Sit_ ," Tsubaki commands, and Maka reluctantly takes a place next to her. Soul follows, sitting beside her and giving her warning glances out of the corner of his eye.

"Eruka," Tsubaki says, more kindly now. "Could you please relate what you saw?"

Eruka's lower lip wobbles, and she shrinks backwards into the couch cushions, but says in a clear voice, "M-Mizune and I had plans this afternoon. We were going to practice our incantations for our meeting at her house, because she hadn't quite gotten the pronunciation of the second line down yet. I texted her a few minutes before I was going to leave and told her I was coming over, and she said okay."

She hugs herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, and Tsubaki rises to sit beside her, hand reaching out for her shoulder. "It - it took me about a half hour to drive there,” she says shakily. “I parked. Rang the doorbell. Waited. But she didn't answer. I th-thought maybe she was downstairs in her room, so I used the spare key to open the door, and…and…"

Eruka buries her face in her hands, choking out, "Sh-sh-she was at the b-bottom of the s-stairs, limbs all tw...twisted. I thought she had just f-fallen and was unconscious but she was already d-dead, even though there was no b-blood..."

She cuts herself off with a shrill wail, burying her face into Tsubaki’s waiting embrace. She looks at Maka and Soul over Eruka's heaving shoulders, eyes quietly questioning.

"Could have been someone from Mizune's old coven," Jackie remarks, crossing her legs and tapping her fingers against her thigh. "She never talked about them much but we all know she didn't have the best relationship with them after she left -"

"What about the protections?" Kim demands. "I thought that they were supposed to be powerful enough to stop any spells from the outside."

"They had been in place for quite some time though, they may have been weakened," Jackie says. She glances at Tsubaki, saying, "I heard rumors, though, that the Mabaa coven had found a way to make them last longer, and stronger -"

"Now is not the time for your needling, Jackie," Tsubaki says briskly. "You've made your opinion clear many times over on what you thought of my decision, and we have more pressing problems right now."

Jackie's expression goes cold, and she looks away with a 'hmph'.

"Besides, we have reason to believe that what killed Mizune was something the wards would have been unable to keep out," Tsubaki continues. "There was another murder a few days ago."

"A spirit," Maka says. "A vengeful ghost of some sort, killed a man in one of the neighboring towns."

"A ghost?" Kim says, skeptical. "Like _, whooo_ , _I am going to spooook you_?" She wiggles her fingers mockingly, then rolls her eyes. "Please. Mizune might have been having some trouble getting down her part of the ritual but she still had more power in her pinky than the two of you combined."

"Vengeful spirits are no joke," Soul says. "We're not talking about…about…” He trails off, ducking his head, hand coming up to rub at his mouth. Maka doesn’t understand at first, until she looks back at their audience.

The three witches stare at him with identical looks of curious disgust. “What’s up with your teeth?” Kim asks bluntly. “They’re all like…” She makes a vague up and down motion with her index finger. “Jagged and weird looking.”

“I thought you said they were hunters, Tsubaki,” Jackie says, wrinkling her nose. “Aren’t only humans hunters?”

Eruka in particular looks fascinated at the brief glimpse of Soul’s dentition, leaning away from Tsubaki. “Like a shark,” she murmurs, tilting her head. “Or maybe a piranha…" Her fingers twitch as if she wants to touch them, and she asks, “Do they regrow if you lose them? Are they sharper or -”

“Save it for your creepy aquarium, Eruka –"

Maka’s already starting to stand up, anger boiling within her. She opens her mouth to spew it out, but Soul’s hand grasps the crook of her elbow, and he shakes his head. _Don’t start a fight,_ his face tells her, but the scarlet depths of his eyes betray a miserable understanding of their reaction.

She shoves him off of her. “ _Fuck you_ ,” Maka snarls at them. “Soul’s more normal than all three of you combined.” Over the sudden clamor of protests, she spits, “We come here to help save your miserable lives, and this is how you treat us? I should have expected as much from _witches_ –“

“ _Quiet,_ all of you!” Tsubaki’s voice slices through the furious din. “I cannot _believe_ ,” she says, looking at each of her three charges in turn, “that this is how you treat our guests. _Especially_ since every one of you has known the pain of being judged for things beyond your control.”

They squirm under her icy gaze. “Sorry,” Kim mutters. Jackie echoes her apology, and Eruka buries herself back into Tsubaki’s embrace.

“And Maka.” Tsubaki’s impossibly dark blue eyes bore into her, and Maka swallows nervously. “I would appreciate it if you kept our profession out of your comments from now on,” and she can do nothing but bob her head in acceptance.

“Soul,” Tsubaki says in a far kinder tone. “Please continue.”

Soul nods, looking down at the table, and Maka burns all over again to see the way he tries to cover his teeth by moving his lips as little as possible, mumbling, “Th-the majority of spirits are made of pure emotion, usually rage, and will kill and kill until someone puts a stop to them. Even the weakest could fling all three of you against the wall without a second thought, and in the next moment stick their hands in your chest and stop your heart. Don't underestimate them."

"I still think it's more likely that it's another witch," Jackie says, frowning. "We don't kill people, or curse them, or anything like that - what would Mizune have ever done to anyone to make them come back and attack her as a ghost?"

"It might not have been something she personally did," Soul replies. "Many times the ghosts are just looking for people who fit specific patterns, or happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He peeks up at him through the fringe of his hair. “Do you know of any local ghost stories or hauntings around here?"

One by one the other witches shake their heads.

"Maybe we can find out via divination," Kim suggests. "Between the four of us, maybe we can get a glimpse of the killer."

"I believe we have the necessary spell components..." Jackie rises from the couch, disappearing into the hallway.

"Ow," Eruka complains, muffled against Tsubaki's shoulder. "Tsubaki, you're squeezing me too tight."

"Ah, sorry," she says, and Maka watches her carefully disentangle herself from Eruka.

"You'll lead, right?" Kim begins to lay out candles on the coffee table. "We're down a witch but you can make up for that, right?"

"I..." Tsubaki seems to hesitate, touching the ends of her hair, before saying, "Yes, of course."

The witches gather around the table, Maka and Soul scooting backwards to make room for them. Jackie dims the lights, and the flames look like broken gashes of yellow in the pool of water in the center. Eruka sniffs, rubbing her face with a long sleeve, before taking hold of Tsubaki and Jackie's hands.

Maka's skin tingles as they begin to recite together, four distinct voices blending into one. The candles flicker, and the water ripples circles up against the sides of the bowl.

The chanting suddenly stops, and everyone cranes their head to look at the now still water.

"...Are you sure we were able to pull it off with four?" Kim says, brow creasing as she stares at the surface.

"It was a successful spell," Tsubaki says, sitting back on her heels and sighing. "We've been blocked. Whoever killed Mizune knows enough magic to at least stop others from peering in on them."

"Like say...another witch?" Kim asks as Tsubaki gets up to turn the lights back on.

"It's possible," Tsubaki replies, tone neutral.

"Then the protections did fail," Jackie declares. "Tsubaki, we should take this to Mabaa - perhaps they even know of a way to make it so the wards will keep out both witchcraft and ghosts, if you're still convinced -"

"The Mabaa coven is dangerous," she argues back. "All too often they overextend their magic with terrible results. Do you not remember what happened to their last experiment, the one they tried to impress upon us was a necessary upgrade to a simple technique? The witch lost an eye!"

"They're allowed to make mistakes," Jackie insists. "And he used their techniques to forge himself a new one, one I hear is even better! We should at least ask -"

" _Enough,_ " Tsubaki says sharply, stopping Jackie's prepared retort. "I have given you my reasons why I wish to remain separate from Mabaa, and they remain unchanged, as they have been for the last six months. If you disagree with them so strongly, you are more than welcome to break your membership with this coven and join theirs."

Her fellow witches shift uncomfortably, avoiding her eyes.

"Then can I assume that you are in agreement with me?"

Finally, Jackie says, tightly, "Yes." Eruka ducks her head, muttering assent.

"As you say, _Priestess_ ," Kim grumbles.

"Listen," Maka growls at the insolence in her tone. "How do we even know that _you_ weren't -"

"Maka," Soul warns, and she recognizes that tone and look he directs at her - _let me handle this_. "Whether it's actually a witch or a spirit," he begins, drawing out the instructions they had prepared ahead of time, "you should all know what to do if it's the latter." Maka sulks as he gives them the quick rundown - pure iron will dissipate them for a short period of time, ghosts can't cross lines of salt, that if they see one try to take note of its features so they can hopefully match it to a body in the cemetery to salt and burn.

"Be careful," he repeats, still not looking any of them in the eye. "I know you're all used to being some of the more powerful things around here, but don't take this lightly. This is your life you're gambling with."

The others nod, some a little more reluctantly than others.

"Until then, Soul, Maka and I will continue to investigate Mizune's death." Tsubaki seems to hesitate, before her shoulders sink slightly and she spreads her hands. "I know Mizune was new to our coven, but she will be missed. I understand your anger and shock, because I feel this too. Please take care of yourselves."

"We will," Eruka replies, voice small. Tsubaki smiles at her.

With one last reminder of salt - iron - flames and to call if anything comes up, they take their leave.

"Was Mizune powerful?" Maka asks, once they're back in the car. "Did she have anything that anyone else wanted, get mixed up in any sort of affairs, or do anything to make the others jealous of her?"

"Mizune was kind, and generous," Tsubaki says. "I have never heard anyone say a single negative thing about her. Why do you ask?"

Maka shifts uncomfortably in the back seat. "Just wondering," she mutters. "If these wards were broken, it wouldn't have been a difficult thing to drop a hex bag somewhere -"

"I hope," Tsubaki says icily, "that you are not suggesting that you think one of the witches in my coven could have murdered Mizune."

"It just seems most logical to start with people who knew her!" Maka protests. "And…you know, sometimes, what can happen with a witch gets -"

"I hope," she continues, and now anger threads through her words, despite the soft volume, "that you are not implying that witches in particular make a habit of murdering and torturing those they dislike or disagree with. I truly hope that this was not what you intended to convey."

After a tense minute, Maka says, "It wasn't."

"Good." Tsubaki starts the car and pulls away from the tea shop.

"I think we should split up," Soul says, breaking the silence. "Tsubaki and I will go to Mizune's house and check to see if there's any evidence of ghosts or witches. Maka, why don't we drop you off and you can get started on researching?"

She wants to argue, wants to insist on accompanying them to the dead witch's house, but she hears the warning in Soul's voice and watches the stiffness set into Tsubaki's spine, and knows when she's not wanted. "All right," she says, and watches the streetlamps sweep from one side to the other as she contemplates who besides a ghost would have killed a witch, and why.

* * *

It's near midnight when Soul and Tsubaki begin to approach Mizune's house. Tsubaki warns that while she can easily enchant a single person into looking the other way, she can't do so for anyone who happens to be glancing out their window, so they're reduced to sneaking in the hunter way. They steal across lawns of red dirt and aloe plants, avoiding whatever motion sensitive lights they spot and ducking behind garbage cans as a car drives by.

It's a simple trick for Tsubaki to unlock the front door, though Soul tells himself that he could have had it open in the same amount of time with his lockpicks. It shuts it behind them softly, quiet darkness separating them from the hushing of the freeway and noises of the night. The only source of light is the muted streetlight trying to worm its fingers through the crack in the living room curtain, and the clicking of the flashlight button is loud in the settled silence of the house.

The bannister casts bars on Tsubaki's face and on the wall behind her as Soul flicks his flashlight around. "Downstairs, right?" he whispers, and begins to ease down the steps, Tsubaki close behind.

The basement turns out to be a fairly small but nice living space. A bed leans against one corner of the area, sheets in array, and a dresser with tongues of clothing poking out from its drawers is in another. A tiny bathroom sits to the right of the stairs, and to the left is a narrow corridor that leads to the closet space underneath the stairs. The door to the latter is slightly cracked open, and Soul pushes it further to reveal a large wooden trunk, lid lifted to reveal all a manner of witchy-looking things - tarot cards, candles, twists of herbs that Soul recognizes as being from Tsubaki's shop, composition notebooks.

Next to him, she sighs. "Poor Mizune," she murmurs. "She was a good student, dedicated and hard working." She picks up a notebook and leafs through it, arcane words and jagged English letters blurring as she flips the pages. "Quiet, but always smiling. She never said much to me, but Eruka seemed to understand her just fine."

"You have…interesting people in your coven," Soul says, thinking of their shocked reactions, of the way they had stared at him, less afraid and more…disdainful.

She sighs. “I’m sorry about that,” she says as she begins to gather the other items from the closet. “I did not expect them to be so…judgmental.”

" 'S okay,” he grunts.

“It’s not,” she replies, firm. “They of all people should have had more empathy for you.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, more to keep her from continuing to dissect an experience that he really doesn’t want to analyze than out of any real curiosity.

“Well, Kim is a natural witch, like myself, though the first in her family. She and Jackie ran away together, when her family discovered her powers, and Jackie’s discovered her relationship with Kim.” She hefts the bag on her shoulder and straightens up. “I don’t know as much about Eruka. I believe she belonged to a coven before mine that she left for reasons she won’t tell me.”

They walk back to the bottom of the stairs, and Soul begins to unpack his equipment. "Speaking of other covens,” he begins, “It sounds like there’s more than just yours in town?"

"Mmm," Tsubaki replies, holding the flashlight for him as he digs into the pockets of his backpack. "The Mabaa coven is extensive, spanning much of Arizona. We had been quietly working in the background as one of the few individual groups left, but they've been pressuring us to join with them."

"Why don't you?" Soul asks. "Isn't it that the bigger the coven, the more powerful or more safe you are?"

"That's true," she verifies. "But not all covens are like my own. Almost all of the Maaba have made deals with demons to achieve their power. Worse, often the power they receive is so much more than what they are used to that the witches tend to go a little crazy and use spells for everything they could think of." She accepts an iron crowbar, saying, "Magic can be very addicting - there is a reason I insist we only do one large spell on the night of the new moon, and that’s one of them."

"Huh," Soul muses. "The others don't seem happy about that."

"No," Tsubaki says tightly, "they haven't been."

She offers no further commentary, so Soul flips on the EMF meter. He begins to wave it around the landing, listening to it crackle and hiss, then begins to ascend the stairs, sweeping it in front of him. As he reaches the top, it begins to sputter, then gives a trilling wail, green and red lights flashing. "EMF is picking up a ghost," he calls downstairs.

No response. Soul silences the machine and turns back. His hand brushes against the side of the railing as he does so, and he pauses as they come into contact with something…sticky.

He uses a finger to wipe some of the substance off the wood, holds it up to the light, and…

"Fuck," he says. " _Fuck._ "

He clomps down the stairs. "Tsubaki? Got some bad ne- what's wrong?"

Tsubaki's grimacing near the bathroom doorway. "I thought I felt something strange here, and…" She makes a small motion, brow furrowing in concentration. She holds the pose for a few seconds, then relaxes, sighing. "I was afraid of this," she murmurs.

"What?"

She heaves another sigh. "The wards weren't old, or improperly done - they were broken, broken by witchcraft. And as if that wasn't enough, a powerful spell was somewhere in the vicinity of Mizune when she died - far too powerful for anything she, or anyone else in my coven, would be capable of."

"Wait, so is that what killed her?"

"I can't say for sure, without knowing the spell, but she was found dead in this exact spot…" Tsubaki trails off, hands lowering as she worries away at her lip with her teeth.

"Well, that's strange." Soul holds up his finger, shows her the black glistening tar-like substance on it. “ ’Cause not only did the EMF go crazy at the top of the stairs, I also found this. Ectoplasm."

Tsubaki studies it, frowning. "What does that mean?"

"Means there's a very, very powerful and very, _very_ angry ghost that's been hanging around these murders." He carefully scrapes off the rest of the ectoplasm off his hands onto the side of the doorframe. "We should get back to Maka. I haven't heard of a ghost being able to use magic or witchcraft before, but she might have."

Back in the Buick, Soul cups his hands over the warm air wafting from the vents while Tsubaki drives them back to her house. Deep-voiced radio DJs murmur below the sighing of the heater, and the first droplets of the forecasted rain cast amoeba-shaped shadows on the dash as they slip through the well-lit streets.

The sound of the water hitting the windows rouses him from a muzzy, motion-induced haze of exhaustion. "Tsubaki?" he says, voice sounding loud within the confines of the car.

She doesn't respond at first, and he turns his head to see her staring at the road, face blank. Her posture is perfect, as always - hands precisely at 10 and 2, shoulders back and spine straight, just like Wes and his mother incessantly lectured him on. He feels himself being pulled into a similar pose just by looking at her, old habit and a ghost of the sharp tip of his etiquette teacher's cane pressing into the small of his back making him straighten up.

"Tsubaki?" he ventures again, and she blinks, some of the tension in the arch of her back easing, just a little.

"Yes, Soul?"

"Uh, I was wondering..." He looks down at his interlaced fingers and takes a deep breath. "Your brother. You said he made a deal like me."

She makes a sound that could be an affirmation or just an invitation for him to continue, so he goes on. "I was wondering if...if he ever..."

"Displayed powers like you have?"

He blinks. "Uh...yeah. How did you -"

"Maka told me, a while ago. She asked the same question." Tsubaki gives a slight shrug. "I told her mostly the truth - I hadn't talked to him in quite some time before he came to me, here, hoping to kill me and take my place as the next in line to be the Will of the Nakatsukasa. He had made a deal to receive the powers of witchcraft that he believed to be his birthright in exchange for his soul, and so any spellery that he attacked me with could have been because of that. And yet..."

"...Yet...?" he prompts her after a moment.

"He did exhibit some strange powers," she says, reluctantly. "And he wasn't...all there, I believe. He kept muttering strange things underneath his breath - old, archaic haikus in our native Japanese. He hadn't spoken the language since he was fourteen, when he realized he was to be denied the chance to be the Will and swore off the Nakatsukasa clan and anything associated with it."

"What type of power do you mean?" Soul asks, pressing the heels of his hands together tightly. "Like - bigger spells or -"

"Control over my body," she replies simply. "He was able to force me to kneel to him, to stand still as he attempted to run a blade through my body. And the quality was…strange. It wasn't witchery - that has a certain feel to it, like moving through staticky honey. It was like he was yanking on me, something in my bones being forced to succumb." She shakes her head. "I didn't know what to make of it, then, and I was too busy fighting him off to dwell on it for long. But I'd suspected it was something more than just magic even before Maka told me about your sudden ability to kill things with just your will and mind."

Soul mulls this over, not sure how much he likes that Maka told someone else about his curse without him knowing. He chooses instead to focus on, "You said you mostly told her the truth. Maka, I mean. Why not the whole part?"

The car stops at a light, and red curves over Tsubaki's face as she nibbles on her lip. "I didn't want…I didn't want her to jump to hasty conclusions, I suppose. She hadn't shown herself to be different from most hunters in terms of seeing dangerous and not-human creatures as not being immediate threats. And Masamune, he had been…unstable for some time before he summoned Medusa, I suspect. I didn't want her to think that it was the path you were heading down."

"…I guess I can see that," Soul says slowly, "but you don't give Maka enough credit. I know she comes off as brash, and inconsiderate, especially in how we met, but she's also loyal, and caring, and she's smarter and more willing to accept that not everyone is a bloodthirsty killing machine than you think." The car rolls forward as the light turns green, and he says, "Besides, I - I think you would have been right to warn her. Already, I can feel…" He digs his nails into the flesh of his palms, but the pain does little to cut through the djinn's eyeless face, the splintering of their bones…

Tsubaki waits his response out in respectful silence, but does slow the car down as they come to her neighborhood to give him more time to speak.

"It's like you said," he says finally. "A pulling, but of blood. And it's…it's intoxicating, not just the power, but the way it makes you feel…" He trails off - it's wrong, somehow, to have Tsubaki be the first to hear this; it feels like betrayal. "It's dangerous," he says instead. "A madness that insulates you from comprehension and consequences. And worse, it spreads, too, I think, to other people, not just me."

"I see," she says softly as they turn onto her street. "I can look into this, if you'd like, though I'm not sure what I can find. But it does seem as though this is something that isn't unique to you, specifically, if my brother was affected by the same force."

"That would be nice," he replies, though in his heart he knows she won't find more than what they've already figured out. "How is the purification of his soul going, by the way?"

"As slow as ever," she replies. "The sins he bears are long and his binding to hell difficult to sever, but it is my duty as the one that killed him, as the one that is responsible for his fate. As his sister."

The conviction in her tone pulls at something in him, her words singing out the same note that plays over and over anytime he thinks of the unconcealed shock and hurt in his brother's eyes, anytime he thinks of the cruel grin that's become a permanent fixture on Wes’s refined features.

She eases into the garage and turns off the car, but makes no move to get out. The automatic lights flicker out after a while and still they sit, darkness covering their faces.

"Wes is Arachne's latest vessel," he finds himself saying. "And it's all my fault. Maka died, and I couldn't - I couldn't go on without her. And Oni, the demon, when I summoned it, it offered me a choice - my partner alive, or my brother saved. And I…I chose…"

"Maka," Tsubaki supplies quietly.

He gives a nod that he knows she can't see. "Yeah. I thought - I thought, with her by my side, we could save him. We didn't need a demon to bring him back to me." He gives a bitter laugh. "Five years of looking for him with _nothing_ to show for it, and I thought that.

"And then," he says, softer, "and then, we find the djinn, last week. And they tell me - they tell me that _I'm_ the reason Arachne's using Wes as a vessel. That because I brought back Maka, because I made a deal with Medusa, Arachne decided he'd be the best way to torture me, to stick it to her sister." His voice cracks as he says, "I've done nothing but torture my brother, in one way or another, and yet I still, I _still_ can't find it in me to regret asking for Maka instead of him."

A soft hand settles on his shoulder as he chokes down sobs. A deep breath. "Arachne," he says raggedly. "Arachne is dangerous. She's incredibly powerful and I don't know how…how we'll even get close enough to exorcise her, much less how to make it permanent."

He squeezes his hands together, feels the dull ache spread up through flesh and muscle, begging his brain to stop the pain. He clenches tighter. "It's not him," he whispers. "It's a demon, using him in a way he'd never ever want to be used, and I know, I _know_ he'd beg me to put him out of his misery - I know I owe it to him, as the person that inflicted all of this on him, but. But. He's - he's -"

"Your brother," Tsubaki finishes for him, voice laced with understanding and sorrow and the sharp, cutting edge of truth. "He's your brother."

"Yeah," he whispers, and nothing more needs to be said.


	6. the calling

Maka yawns as she slumps over her fifth book, rereading the last paragraph over for the umpteenth time. She's tired, so very tired, despite having spent the majority of the last four days asleep.

What was this book even about again? She flips to the first page - _A History of Yavapai County._ Oh right, she's supposed to be making notes for cross-referencing bloody times or significant murders with the death records at the city hall.

She lets out a groan, head dropping down onto the splayed pages. She regrets everything - regrets coming to this place (though that wasn't her choice really), regrets agreeing to hit the books instead of investigate (also not her fault).

In short, Soul is to blame for all of her current problems. She sighs, trying to work up the motivation to read just one more book, Maka, just one more paragraph, just one more question before the test tomorrow -

 _No_ , she tells herself forcefully, shaking her head against the smooth pages. _Never happened, have to remember that_.

Not college, for sure, but her mind does bring up memories of frantic studying before high school exams, of early mornings of heading to the library to type out her essay as fast as possible before classes started - of reading textbooks in the camper, flashlight tucked with her under the covers as she waited for her parents to come back from a case.

She closes her eyes, lets her mind float to the few events she remembered well from her schooling: a science fair she won first place at but moved before she could go to the assembly for; arts and crafts for Mother's Day at one school and for Father's Day at another; moving right before Valentine's day and receiving a pile of candy half as large as her classmates because their parents hadn't accounted for needing one extra for a new transfer student. Mama going out and buying an entire bag of Sweethearts and sitting between her and Papa, reading them aloud and gifting them to each of them in equal measure.

Back further, to Papa's clear smooth voice reading aloud to her, teaching her, quizzing her. Filling out workbooks faster than he could find them, always wanting to know more, to learn more, more, _more_.

Back further…and further…

* * *

The best thing about staying at Black*Star's house is having a room all to herself, with a real bed and without her parents there to take her flashlight and book away from her. The worst thing is hearing Black*Star's snoring in the room next to her - it's louder than Mama and Papa's combined.

It's not quite loud enough to drown out the sounds of arguing in the room across from hers though. Maka clicks off her flashlight and places it on the nightstand along with her book. She eases out of bed, trying to be as quiet as Mama taught her to be, and sneaks to the door. The wood is cool against her ear as she strains to overhear her parents' voices.

"- needs a home, Suzane. She needs a place to grow up! She needs friends -"

"She _has_ friends, she's got Sid's whelp -"

"That she sees once every six months! She needs a bed that's her own and enough storage space to allow her to have toys, and - and a birthday party with friends, not one celebrated while we're squatting in an abandoned house! And she's smart, Suzane, smarter than either of us. She's already completed middle school workbooks, and she's only nine. She needs a steady education, good teachers who can help guide her. The road is no place to raise a child -"

"What are you saying?" Mama's voice is dangerously low. "That this isn't good enough for her? Or isn't good enough for you? Don't think I don't see the way you ogle other women when we're out. Or that I don't know about your trips to the shitty redneck strip clubs - _"_

"Th-that has nothing to do with -"

Maka tries to shift closer to hear them, and beneath her feet the floorboards give a loud creak just as Black*Star's snores goes quiet. She freezes as her parents' voices suddenly stop.

There's low murmuring on the other side of the door, and Maka hastily returns to her bed, tossing the covers over her and pretending to sleep.

The door opens slowly, and light traces along the back of Maka's eyelids. She tries to keep her breathing steady, in and out, like Mama told her to when aiming her BB gun.

Footsteps approach her bed. A warm hand traces down her shoulder. Maka cracks one eye open, then makes a show of waking up, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "Mama?" she asks, feigning sleepiness.

The bed groans under additional weight as Mama settles on top of it. She runs her fingers through Maka's hair, and Maka takes it as an invitation to snuggle up to her. "What's wrong, Mama?" she asks. She buries her face into her mother, inhaling the scent of cigars and leather jacket.

"Nothing, baby," Mama murmurs, giving her a squeeze. "Your father and I were talking, and we were just…worried that we woke you up."

Maka shakes her head against Mama's belly. "I was sleeping."

"Mmm." She continues to stroke Maka's head, and it feels so nice that Maka's almost actually asleep when Mama says, "We were just talking about maybe staying in one place for a little while. We've been travelling a lot lately."

"I like travelling," Maka says quickly. "I like seeing lots of things and I like using the maps and telling Papa which way to go."

"I know, sweetheart. But you know, there are other things to do besides hunting. Have you ever thought about that?"

"I want to be like Mama," Maka says immediately. "I wanna save people, like you do."

Mama smiles. "You'll be better even than me, little shadow, when it's your time," and the pride in her voice buoys Maka up. But Mama hesitates, and she says, more seriously, "Papa was telling me how good you've been with your learning. Have you ever thought about going to school?"

"…I like learning," Maka admits. "Black*Star says he doesn't like school, but it sounds like fun. And I bet I'd be good at it. Papa isn't very good at math, Mama, I always beat him when we do times tables."

"I see," Mama says quietly. There's a faint frown on her face as she stares at the wall, still absently rubbing Maka's back.

"Where are we gonna go next Mama?" Maka asks, trying to draw her back. "The news person said a lot of people died in a train in Oregon, are we going to go there? Do you think it's a ghost? Can I hunt too this time?"

Mama blinks, and looks down at her, all hints of a frown wiped away. "No, baby, that wasn't a ghost, it was…just an accident, what happened there. And you know you can't hunt with us until -"

"Until I’m ten," Maka grumbles. "But Mama, I’m already better at shooting than you and Papa, and I’ve been practicing my lockpicking, and my birthday is only a few months away -"

"Now, now, you know the rules," Mama says, chuckling a little as she bends to give Maka a kiss on the forehead. "Go to sleep now, love. We'll talk more in the morning."

"Okay, Mama," Maka says dutifully, allowing herself to be tucked in again. The light clicks off and Mama shuffles off to the guest bedroom, which is silent for the rest of the night.

But Maka can't sleep. Did Mama really mean it when she said she could go to school? Does that mean she'll get to have her own desk with her own place to put her school items? Would she get to go to the school library whenever she wanted and be able to check out books to take back to the camper? Would they have field trips to the zoo? She's never been to a zoo before.

Would she get a class pet? Could it come home with her? There wouldn't be enough space in the camper and Papa would probably be upset at having an animal so close to the kitchen but Maka would take good care of it, she knows she would. She'd take such good care of it that maybe it could come with her when they move again to save someone else from monsters.

Her frantic thoughts falter, enthusiasm waning. She isn’t quite sure _why_ the thought of school and hunting together makes her feel like she’s doing something wrong, but she can feel shame curdle within her. She’s a Kamashi, Mama tells her, and someday she’ll be the person killing monsters and saving people, just like she’s always wanted.

She’s just also always wanted to know what it’s like to go to school. And now she’s going to finally get that chance, she reminds herself, previous excitement flaring up again. Papa said it was good she liked to learn so much, said she was really smart, smarter than him, and she can’t wait to go…

* * *

Mama tried. They settled down in West Virginia, renting a small house on the outskirts of town. Papa got a job as a short-order cook and Mama as a factory worker. For three months, Maka went to the same school. For three months, she slept in the same bed, had the same teacher guide her through the gaps in knowledge that she had inherited from her parents, shared lunch with the same girls in class, and came home to real meals made by Papa. For three months, Maka felt like she was living out someone else's life, like she swapped places with one of the characters in her books, and she wondered if they would be upset if she never gave it back.

Then came a phone call on Mama's cell phone, the one for work. Hunting work.

"What's yer-op?" Maka asks, frowning at her book.

"What?" Papa juggles a pan in his hand as he leans over the kitchen island and squints at the map.

"Yer-op," Maka says again. "Meme said she went there in the summer and I looked and I can't find it on the map."

"Yer- oh, you mean Europe, honey." He turns back to the stove, flipping the onions over and over in the pan. Maka watches, enthralled - he manages to make it look as graceful as when he twirls knives and daggers in his hands. "Europe won't be on that map, sweetheart, that only shows America. Europe's another continent."

"Continent?" Maka tilts her head, staring down at the familiar names of states and cities.

"Ah, I suppose we never got that far in geography, did we? There's more to the world than just the USA, many other countries -"

"Like Canada and Mexico?"

"That's right, only there's more than that, hundreds, across the ocean. Remember when we were in North Carolina last month, and went to the beach? On the other side of the water is land like ours, with people living on it -"

The ringing of Mama's cell phone on the dining table breaks their conversation, and Mama comes in, beckoned by the call. Papa pauses in his cooking to stick his head around the doorway and Mama obligingly kisses his cheek before going to answer it. "So," Papa says, pasta rattling as he pours it into the pot, "did anything else fun happen at school today?"

"Oh _yeah!_ " Maka exclaims. It earns her an immediate scolding from Mama, who shushes her as she holds the phone up to her ear. Undaunted, Maka whispers as loudly as she can to Papa, "Tsugumi said that her parents are taking her to a movie! In a _theater_! And she said I could come, can I go?"

"I don't know…" Papa says dubiously. "What movie? I'd have to meet her parents first, make sure they're trustworthy…"

" _Pa-_ pa, they're fine. And it's _Ella Enchanted_ , I read the book and I lent it to Tsugumi and that's why she said I could come with her. So can I go, _please_?"

Papa stirs the spaghetti, hemming. "I did get a little extra money the other day…"

"I'll stuff _all_ the shotgun shells with salt, I promise! And I'll help sharpen all the daggers and machetes, and, and -"

"How about you do the dishes tonight, instead?" he says, smiling. "And you have to look up where Europe is and tell me something about three of the countries in it. _And_ ," he raises a finger, "and no reading in bed tonight! You haven't been getting enough sleep, I can tell."

"All right," she grumbles.

"No, yeah, we can still take it on. No, it's no problem. I'm sure. Okay, thanks." Mama hangs up. "Monster in Uniontown, over in Pennsylvania," she announces. "Think it might be a siren."

Papa's wooden spoon slows. "…I thought we said we were done with that for now," he says carefully.

"Joe needs our help," Mama says.

"I'm sure there are other hunters in the area." Papa sniffs at the bubbling sauce. "Aren't Marie and Azusa in Virginia?"

"They've got their hands busy with a nest of vampires. That's why Joe called us." Mama's already moving towards the closet, digging out their arsenal of weapons that had become slowly buried beneath coats and cleaning supplies and shoes.

"I still think -"

"Are we just going to let him die then?" Mama snaps. Hangers clatter to the floor, and Maka flinches at the sound. "I told you, no one else can come."

Papa's face turns hard and resolute. "Maka has school in the morning, and an important test this week -"

"We'll get her a babysitter then. Maka, honey," Mama says, gentler, looking at her, "are there any kids in your class that you can stay over at their house for a little while? Or an adult you trust that might be able to take you while we go save our friend?"

"I don't know Mama. But can't I come with you and Papa?"

"You have a test in science on Friday," Papa reminds her, and she makes a face.

"It won't be long," Mama soothes, setting the shotgun down and coming over to stroke her hair. "Just for a couple of days, okay? You'll be a good girl while we're gone, right?"

Maka swallows, feeling very small and very scared, but schools her expression into one she thinks Mama would make. "I'll be good," she promises.

"That's my girl," Mama says, holding her close to her. "We'll be back soon. Promise."

* * *

Miss Blair's house is loud and busy, with people constantly coming in and out. Maka sulks at first, upset that she wasn't allowed to go with her parents or stay by herself because she's _definitely_ old enough to be able to. A part of her, though, is secretly happy that she doesn't have to miss school. And Miss Blair is nice, at least, and is fun to watch scary movies with - she doesn't criticize the monsters or the protagonists like her parents do.

Mama and Papa return a few days later, looking tired and weary when they come to pick Maka up. Maka runs to hug them, and they smell like sweat and leather and blood and the familiarity of it all along with the warmth of her parents' arms around her make Maka almost burst out into tears. They stay up until one in the morning, Mama and Papa telling her about how they helped Joe kill the siren, and about Pennsylvania. Maka shows them her science test, 15/15 proudly displayed across the top, and tells them all about the book Miss Blair gifted to her to read while they were away. She falls asleep sandwiched between them in their bed.

But it doesn't last. Two weeks later, the Albarns are on the road again, this time bringing Maka and the rest of their belongings with them. They promise Maka that she can attend school in the next state. This time, she gets through three chapters of their English composition textbook before Mama hears of a poltergeist in Vermont. Maka doesn't return the textbook.

After a while, Maka stops trying to memorize her classmates names, stops applying for library cards, stops bothering to unpack all of her clothes, but she can't stop herself from scribbling notes and doing homework. She struggles in some classes, her previous school having been chapters behind, and breezes through others. There's just something about solving a problem or learning something new, something she's never been able to replicate even with the high of banishing a spirit or saving a victim. Something that makes her stay up well after midnight, even after a full day of school and helping her parents dig up graves for salting and burning bones.

It's not long after her sixteenth birthday that Spirit finally puts his foot down. Maka hasn't been ignorant of the tension brewing between them, and their drives from one town to another have gotten progressively more and more silent over the years. But it's still a surprise when she wakes up one morning to find their old Ford Fiesta gone, and all of Mama's hunting gear with it.

Papa looks shocked himself, but slaps on a wan smile for her when she shuffles into the mini-kitchen of the camper. "Mama's…just gone after a banshee," he tells her when she asks.

"By herself?"

"She doesn't think she'll be gone long."

Maka pours herself a bowl of cereal. Mama's never worked a case without Papa, never completely. She says nothing.

"Looks like it'll just be you and me for a little while, cupcake," Papa says with forced cheerfulness.

It's easy to resent Papa over the next few weeks, and she ignores him with all the self-righteousness of a teenager. It's especially easy to sneer at him whenever he comes home after the part-time job he secured as a line cook at a fancy restaurant in town, smelling of perfume and cheap wine, easy to blame him and his philandering ways for her mother's absence.

Deep down, she knows their problems go far beyond pretty women turning her Papa's head, knows, even, that in some way her papa was doing this for her and the dreams he pushed her to pursue. But to think of that - to acknowledge that despite following in her mother's footsteps as closely as she could, Maka was still unable to convince her to wait for her, that she was resigned to watching the prints of her soles stretch out into the distance, fading slowly away – it’s too much.

About three weeks after Mama's disappearance, Maka's in the camper, pouring over her textbooks in anticipation for the chemistry final tomorrow. It's a Sunday, and Papa had left her hours later for his early morning job. A saran-wrapped plate of muffins smile at her from beneath a scribbled note. _Good luck studying for the test sweetheart_ , it says, _here's some treats to help you keep up the energy! I love you!_ and Papa's pretty signature winks at her.

She's debating on whether to throw the note away or place it in her folder to give her courage when she opens it tomorrow at school when there's a jingling at the door, something scraping against the lock. Immediately, her hands go for the pistol hidden underneath the bench - it wouldn't be the first time someone drunk or stupid tried to break in - but then there comes four knocks at the door, _lit-tle sha-dow._

She hastily slides the card underneath her papers and makes it to the door in two leaping bounds, flinging open the door. "Mama!"

"Maka, sweetheart! Oh, I missed you so much." She's pressed up against sun-warmed leather, and breathes in the heady scent of fresh air and cigars. Mama squeezes her, prompting Maka to squeeze back harder, and there's a brief contest to see who can hug each other with the most force, before Mama laughs and says, "All right, all right," cradling her in her arms. "You've gotten so strong," she murmurs, and Maka beams.

They sit at the table, Maka sweeping her books and notes off to the side to make room. "Where have you been, Mama?" she asks, trying to keep her tone light and curious.

Mama unwraps a muffin and bites into it, closing her eyes as she savors the taste. "Lots of places, darling, though nowhere that we haven't been together, I think. But that might change soon. I was talking to an old friend of mine, and they mentioned having been called to Japan on a hunt, and apparently there's still some of our bloodline there."

"R-really?" Maka asks, blinking. She'd never met any of her relatives - Papa didn't have any, and Mama's parents died a long time ago, before she was born. That she might have cousins living in another country, speaking a different language, was at both exciting and confusing.

"Yes. I was thinking maybe I'd visit. The airfare should be cheaper, and could be they're looking for another to add to their list of hunters."

Already Maka is calculating how much it would be for both of them to go - how many extra hours of work she'd have to find to afford it. Summer was almost here - she'd be able to get a job and work in between summer homework and the free tutoring she qualified for…

Mama places a hand on her arm, and says, "Don't worry, honey, I'll be sure to write. I'll even do my best to take pictures, you can get disposable cameras for so cheap now."

"O-oh." Maka looks down, and forces her voice not to wobble as she says, "T-that would be great, Mama. Papa is looking for a place right now, so we might have an address to send it to…"

"How is he doing, by the way?" Mama asks, more seriously, as she brushes away a bang from Maka's forehead.

Not well, honestly. Maka sometimes catches him staring out at the road for minutes at a time, lost in thought. At first, she sneered at him, or merely watched him with as much judgement as she could muster, until he noticed her expressions and quickly turned away. _It's his fault_ , she told herself over and over _,_ as the sniffles from the bed on the other side of the camper trickled through her pillow.

Lately, though, she's joined him in his vigil, sitting or standing beside him quietly, sometimes even slipping a hand in his, as they watch for someone who has never looked back at a place once she's left it.

"He's doing fine," Maka says. "He's been enjoying his job. Says he thinks they might give him a pay raise soon. And he said he got a bead on a house a little ways out of here, in Lawton."

"That's great," Mama says, sounding sincere. "He's always wanted a house of his own. Guess that’s what never having one growing up does to you."

"He - he didn't?" Maka asks, blinking. “Have a house, I mean.”

"Well, he _was_ an orphan. He hated being bounced around from foster family to foster family. He told me, when we first met, that his big dream was to someday have a house big enough to fit everyone he loved in it." There's a faraway smile on Mama's lips. "When we learned we were having you, he went right out and spent nearly all of his savings on this camper. ‘The perfect size for my two perfect girls', he said, and so it was."

"Oh," Maka says, realizing how little she knows about Papa. Not like Mama, who had been telling her about their family's exploits as bedtime stories since before she could read.

"Anyway, I'm just so happy to see you, darling. I missed you more than you know." She tugs at Maka's hair, ticking her nose with the ends like she's twelve again, and Maka ducks away, smiling. "You know," Mama says, conspiratorially, "I heard something about a spirit in Wyoming." She grins. "What do you think, honey? Mama-daughter hunt, just the two of us?"

The smile fades from Maka's lips, and she drops her gaze. "I've…I've got a test tomorrow, Mama," she says, unable to look at her mother in the eye. "It's…it's our chemistry final and the school in Wichita didn't even have chemistry as an option until junior year so I've been trying to catch up and I…I really need to finish studying."

"Of course, baby," she says, and Maka flinches at the perfectly neutral tone. _What are you doing?_ a little voice hisses, _Mama finally asks you to go hunting with her and you say no? This is your_ chance _-_

 _It's too late_ , she tells herself, even though she knows it's not, knows Mama would only be delighted to have her change her mind. _If I don't take this test, if I don't pass, I'll never be able to graduate into senior year -_

_What does that matter anyway? You know you're never going to be able to go to coll-_

She's startled out of her argument with herself as Mama pulls her into a hug. "I'm so proud of you, sweetheart," she says, stroking her hair. "You know that, right?"

Maka closes her eyes and squeezes her tight. "I know, Mama," she says into her mother's shoulder, and wishes she could believe it.

* * *

It's a month or two afterwards that Maka comes back to their house, still smelling of fresh paint and filled with more boxes than furniture, to find Papa sitting at the tiny table, staring at the wall.

"Papa?" She takes her shoes off and shrugs off her backpack. "I need the table for homework." She casts a wary eye around for any of Papa's "friends", but is relieved to find the place empty aside from the two of them.

Papa turns his head to look at her. His eyes are bright with unshed tears, and the fact that he's holding back instead of bawling tells Maka more than anything that something is very wrong.

"Maka," he croaks out. "Maka, it's Suzane. Mama. She's…she's dead."

* * *

The pyre makes the already hot summer night sweltering, but Maka cannot feel the heat, only the sweat that rolls down her forehead and mingles with her tears. She forces her eyes away from the flames, watching the plume of smoke waft upwards. She wonders if there's a heaven - if that's where Mama is now. It feels like such a childish thing to worry about that Maka feels disgusted with herself for even contemplating it. And yet…surely with all of the people she's saved, Mama wouldn't have gone to hell, right?

She squeezes Black*Star's hand harder, and relishes in the pain she feels when he grips hers tight.

No newspaper will print her mother's obituary, no co-worker or neighbor will notice her missing. For all intents and purposes, Suzane Kamashi-Albarn died as she had lived - forgotten by many, unnoticed by most. A woman as elusive as smoke, already on her way to the next town, a hazy figure far enough in the distance that it was impossible to tell which direction she was going, only that it was away.

Maka doesn't move as the pyre burns down to embers. Black*Star stays with her until they fade into ash, then lets go of her hand, knowing she wants to be alone. Sid helps Papa to his feet, guides him back into the house, and soon it's just Maka in the grove, alone with the cooling logs.

"Mama," she whispers finally, voice cracking. "Mama, I'm sorry," but Mama's not there anymore. Mama's not anywhere, because she's dead, died alone, because no one was there to check for hex bags in her car, no one was there to distract the witch from throwing a spell at her, no one was there to tackle her to the ground so she wouldn't be blasted to pieces like a bomb went off in her heart -

 _No one was there_ , and she lets that thought, with all the rage and guilt that go along with it, animate her. Her legs jerk stiffly towards the back door, hand fastening around the doorknob and slamming it open. She marches to the basement, to where all of their old gear sits, collecting dust - to where she had watched the others put Mama's belongings when they brought her back to be burned.

She zips open her old backpack and digs through Mama's duffel bag. It still smells of charred blood, and the strange slick tang of magic settles under her tongue as she sets aside pouches of salt, bullets, whetstones. She wraps up Mama's machete and places into the backpack. Printouts and clipped newspaper articles are crumpled up and discarded. At the very bottom lies Mama's leather journal, which she carefully slips into the front pocket.

Underneath the duffel bag is Mama's jacket. Maka traces the worn creases, the cold metal teeth of the zipper, the faded leather. She shrugs it on. It's too big for her, too wide in the shoulders and long at the wrist and waist. Her fingertips barely clear the hem of the sleeves, and the collar is a little scratchy, but that doesn't matter. She'll grow into it. She wraps her arms around herself, but instead of feeling comforted she just feels cold, empty and miserable.

At the last minute, she tosses Papa's sawed off shotgun in as well, then starts up the basement stairs.

Papa is waiting for her at the top. "Maka?" he asks softly. His voice is rough, blue eyes dulled with grief, but they clear a little when he meets her gaze. "What were you -" He stops, looking at the jacket and the backpack over her shoulder, and Maka lifts her chin defiantly. "What are you doing with those?"

"What does it look like?" she says coldly, brushing past him.

He follows her into her bedroom, sternness creeping into his tone. "If you think you're leaving -"

"I am, actually." She wrestles her suitcase out of the back of her closet. "Someone has to kill that witch."

“Someone does,” he agrees, voice perfectly level, “but it won’t be you.”

" _Yes_ , it will be –“

“Sid and Nygus already said they would take care of it,” he says in that same deceivingly calm voice. “You are going to stay here –“

“It's _my_ responsibility," she snarls. "She is _\- was_ my mother."

His face is utterly impassive, and absolute certainty makes an ultimatum of his words. "You’re not going.”

“Watch me,” she grits out, zipping up her suitcase and attempting to move past him into the hallway.

This time, there’s frigid anger in the lines of his mouth, as cold as hers is boiling hot. He towers over her, crossing his arms, and says, " _No_."

“You can’t keep me here!” she shouts, and he easily catches her wrist as she attempts to shove past him. “You _know_ you can’t, you couldn’t even keep _Mama_ with you –“

“ _I will not lose you like I lost her!_ ” he roars, rage and grief contorting his features into something truly awful to behold, and she takes a nervous step back at the unfamiliarity. His hand grips her with a strength born out of desperation and misery, and he says lowly, “You are _not_ going to take that case, Maka, and that is _final_.”

She’s too shocked to protest – Papa _never_ yells at her, never even so much as musters anything beyond a stern word and a disappointed look even when she comes back home with her face bruised and a detention slip from school for fighting.

His expression thaws a little at her reaction. He places his hands on her shoulders, saying, gently, kindly, "It’s too dangerous, sweetheart. Let Sid and Nygus take care of it, like they said they would. Besides, you have a test tomorrow, right? You shouldn't -"

"If you knew it was a dangerous case," Maka says, quietly, "why did you let Mama take it?"

Surprise flashes across his face, and she flings his arms off her. "How _dare_ you," she hisses. "This is _your_ fault."

Papa's mouth gapes open, eyes wide as he stares at her. "What -"

" _You let her die!"_ Maka screams. "She died because of _you!_ Why did you even become her partner in the first place if you were just going to - to abandon her at the first sight of another woman?!" The look on his face is devastating, but Maka refuses to stop. "You were supposed to watch her back! If you were there, she wouldn't have gotten hit - she wouldn't have taken on the witch alone!" She casts around for something else to hurt him, _anything_ , anything that will deaden the poison bubbling away at her flesh, at her bones, and remembers - "You'll never have your house with your p-perfect girls ever again because one of them died and the other one is _leaving, just like you did_!"

Maka whirls past him with her bags. " _Maka-!"_ she hears him shout behind her, terror and panic clawing through his voice, but she ignores him. She doesn't even bother to shut the door behind her as she escapes, and she runs, and runs, and runs until she can't any more.

She doubles over, gasping for air, and her breath hitches, chokes her. Ugly sobs wrack her body and she sinks to the ground, burrowing her head in her knees. A high-pitched keel escapes her and she rocks back and forth, trying to erase the stunned look of despair on Papa's face, the soft look of love on Mama's, the memories of all their times together -

 _I was supposed to be there,_ she thinks. She swipes away at her tears. _Mama asked me to go with her and I said no, I said I was too busy, I said I had school_.

She takes a deep breath, gets to her feet. _No more school_ , she promises herself. _No more fucking around. It's time to wake up, Maka. Time to do what you're supposed to do._

* * *

She wakes to the weight of a hand draping across her shoulder. "Hey," a voice whispers, gentle. "Maka."

"Mmm." She cracks open an eye, and a blurry figure of white and tan swims before her. "Soul," she sighs, letting her eyes drift shut again.

"Hey hey, no." A tugging on her pigtail. "You're going to kill your spine if you sleep like that."

"Nooo," she whines as he puts his arms underneath her armpits and tries to hoist her up. "Nooooo, let me sleeeep."

"You can sleep in your bed, not out here. Look, you drooled on the pages, yuck." He unsticks the paper from her chin, fingers soft against her skin. "Come on, let's get you back."

She lets him help her up, tucking herself under his shoulder and leaning against him. He grumbles a little, but his side is warm and solid against her own, and he leads her to the guest bedroom, steady and sure.

Unfortunately, the shock of the cold pillow and bedsheets against her body jostles her out of warm fuzzy drowsiness, and by the time Soul's shucked the borrowed slippers from her feet and arranged the covers over her, she's wide awake.

"Wait," she says as he turns to leave. "Stay."

He raises an eyebrow. "Weren't you almost asleep walking back here?"

"I'm not tired anymore," she replies. "Come sit next to me." She motions to the other side of the bed.

Soul's perplexed expression doesn't leave his face, but his throat bobs as he swallows and he gingerly lays down beside her. The rosy glow of the nightlight casts strange shadows over his cheeks, jagged from his spiky tufts of hair, but his eyes are warm and intent as he turns to her.

"This way we can talk without waking Tsubaki," she whispers to him.

Something in his face changes, forehead smoothing and corners of his mouth turning into something more neutral. "R-right," he whispers back.

"What did you find at the dead witch's place?"

"Ectoplasm," he says grimly. "At the top of the stairs. Ghost probably pushed her down. But Tsubaki also said she found something strange in the air near her body - something suggesting witchcraft from an outside source." The line of his mouth is a slash of dark. "Never heard of a ghost doing witch magic, have you?"

"No," she replies. "I'm not sure that it's possible. We've come across a couple of ghosts of people who used to be witches, but they were never able to use any of that spellery against us."

The tips of his hair brush against her nose as he nods. "Thought so. Looks like things are getting more complicated than we thought. Witches and ghosts together? I don't like it."

"We've taken on worse," she says, finding his forearm. He startles, eyes darting down. "I'm sure we'll be okay."

"Yeah." He looks back up at her. "It's just…it's strange, is all."

"We've dealt with stranger." She lets her hand linger, hoping to channel her confidence in them to him.

After a while, Soul's fingers find hers, and he laces their hands together. "…Hey," he says, carefully. "I've been wanting to ask you." He pauses, and she can hear him rehearsing his lines in his mind, before settling for a simple, "Are you okay?"

She huffs out a small laugh. "I've been…I've been better."

He doesn't say anything, but waits patiently for her to untangle her feelings into something she can thread into words, and a wave of gratitude and affection washes over her. It's one of the things she loves best about Soul - one of the things that, despite every reason she had come up with against taking him as a partner, continuously shone through as a reason _for_. When he knows there's something she wants to say, something she needs to get off her chest, it feels like he tunes his entire being to her, an attention so focused and intense that it doesn't even matter if he says nothing in response.

"My dream..." she starts, then stops. He gives her hand an encouraging squeeze, dark eyes trained on hers, and she takes a deep breath. "My mom, when she died, I took her place as a hunter. I was always going to, I knew that, but..."

She turns away, looks up at the ceiling. "I didn't want to," she whispers. "I told myself I did, that I had to, that I had no other choice and that I had to make my mom proud. I ignored any other possible path, because I thought any other way would disappoint her. But in my dream, she - she died, earlier, when I was eleven. And I got to go to school. I got to make friends, and take tests, and learn and I got into a good college and I was going to - going to be a science major, was going to do experiments and find out new things that no one ever knew about before, and I was going to teach and...and..." Her eyes are damp, voice hoarse and broken when she says, "I was happy."

A thumb strokes the back of her hand slowly, and she takes a hiccupping breath. "B-but it doesn't matter," she sniffs. "It's never going to happen, and I should just - just accept that."

"...Should you?" Soul asks quietly. "It's not too late, you know. We could stop, stay in one place, take classes. If you wanted. We would have to take the GED and borrow loans for college, but -"

"It's too late," she interrupts, shaking her head. "They need us - there's not many hunters out there and someone has to help save people -"

"It wouldn't have to be all or nothing. We could hunt when there's a case, or when people asked for our help -"

"No, Soul," she says firmly, remembering Mama's failed attempts at settling down and how much worse it felt than just never stopping moving. "It doesn't - it never works out that way. And…and this is…" Mama's hands on hers, holding her rifle steady - her warm, low voice guiding her through the proper way to melt down silver for bullets - working beside her, rasping of the whetstone punctuating the companionable silence. "This is all I have left of her," she whispers.

He sighs, warm breath blowing over her cheeks, but doesn't attempt to persuade her further.

"What about you?" she asks, trying to change the subject. "Are you okay?"

"Me?" he repeats, blinking.

"You've been...quiet. I know you're worried about me but...I don't know." She frowns. "And you've been jumpy too. Every time I get near you, you shrink away, or flinch."

"No I don't," he says, defensive.

She fixes him with a disbelieving look before darting forward to run a hand along his shoulder. His muscles jolt underneath her fingers, and he scowls as she flashes him a smug smile. "See?" she says triumphantly.

"I-it's called personal space, Maka, god," he mutters, ducking his head, but doesn't draw away.

"Was it bad?" she asks, softer. "Your dream?"

He's quiet for a while. "...Yeah. It wasn't - wasn't fun."

Maka waits, drawing on the patience he's taught her to give him time to speak. "It was Wes," he says eventually. "He never got captured. But it didn't - we still didn't really understand each other. And I..." He hesitates, then mumbles something.

"What?" she asks, leaning closer to him.

She feels him tense. "Nothing," he says, looking away.

It's another few minutes before he finally admits, "I was lonely. Being by myself. Even - even with Wes there."

"Oh," she says, then, " _oh_." He stares ahead resolutely, refusing to meet her gaze, but she can see the red crawling up his neck.

Surprise and a pang of tender empathy has her blurting out, "I - I was too," and it's her turn to blush as he faces her with a skeptical expression. "Lonely, I mean. Because - because you weren't there."

"You just said you were happy in your dream," he points out, unconvinced.

"I was, but..." The strange unfamiliar feeling from her dream comes back to her, all the more potent now because she _knows_ who she had been wanting to tell her grade to, _knows_ who it was she was missing with a desperation that had been utterly foreign to her. She had lost Soul in the worst way possible, in a way that had left her feeling bereft and desolate without even the memory of him to comfort her.

"You can't miss what you've never had," she says slowly. "But waking up to you waiting for me, I realized that I - I _had_ missed you, even though I didn’t know there was a you to miss. I was doing what I wanted to do, but it felt…less, somehow, because I didn’t have you by my side." She closes her eyes, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. "I didn't have anyone to talk to, like I talk to you - or anyone that I felt I could trust with everything, like I do with you -"

No one else, in this world or in the other, has ever been as kind to her as he is - as loyal and as supportive and as patient with her faults as he is insistent that she improve on them. What would she be without his sharp grin, his unflappable composure, his steady hands and unwavering faith? Without this man who had chosen to stand beside her, who continues to face her with clear eyes and sincere eagerness to understand?

Her heart aches with the force of love that courses through her, flushing out the loneliness and longing for a different world, flooding her with the quiet contentment he always brings her, the cool spring rain to her ever-burning wildfire.

He had done so much for her and still continued to stand by her side - still gave everything he had to her, and more. "I couldn't do this without you," she confesses. "And I wouldn't want to. You're - you're important to me." She holds his gaze, hoping he can feel her sincerity when she says, "You're the one thing that makes me glad I'm not - that it was a dream."

Soul looks completely flustered, face a shade of scarlet that nearly matches his eyes. His mouth works to say something several times before he stops and sighs. "Y-yeah," he says, clearing his throat and looking away.

The bed creaks as Maka shifts on it, pulling a blanket over her. "How did we get out of there, anyway?" she asks, stifling a yawn. "Did you guys kill the djinn somehow?"

He stiffens immediately. "...Yes," he says, guarded.

"How? Did Liz and Patty have lamb's blood or silver in their car or something?"

He seems about to say something, then deflates. "No."

"Then how..." He turns away from her suddenly, and she blinks at his back, mind running through all the weapons he would have had at his disposal to kill a djinn, before -

"Soul, did you - did you use...?"

"It was an emergency, okay?" he says testily, voice muffled against the pillow. "I had to."

Anger licks at the inside of her chest, and she closes her eyes, forcing her mouth closed to stop from spewing embers at him. She's doing her best to draw upon that calm he gives her when he shifts and says, "It was different, this time."

The fire within her is quickly doused at the quaver in his voice, the barely concealed fear in his words. "What happened?" she asks softly, laying a hand on his arm.

"We found you. Me and Patty. But the djinn found us too. And it tried to kill me, but I - I..." Beneath her fingers his muscles are rigid, and she can hear his quick breathing, imagine the rapid pace of his heart.

"I snapped," he whispers. "I don't know what happened, I just remember feeling so afraid, so angry, and then - then I -" She clutches him as he says, voice hollow, "I killed them. I - I reached into their bloodstream and I made their arms to bend in the wrong way and forced the blood out of their eyes and mouths and stopped their hearts and - and -"

He breaks off, shudders wracking his body. She strokes his back, sweeping her fingers from the hunch of his shoulders, down his spine, listening to his aborted whimpers and sobs.

But - "Stop," he says, flinching away from her. "Don't - please don't touch me."

She pulls her hand away, surprised and a little hurt, but tries not to let it show on her face. He takes a deep, quivering breath, then lets it out in increments. "It wasn't just what I did," he says hoarsely, draping an arm over his eyes. "I wasn't in my right mind. It was like...the world was just one stupid song, and I was the crashing of the keys to reveal the utter nonsense it was built on. And I - I _wanted_ to. I was elated, drunk on power and I wasn't - I wasn't scared, for once in my life I didn't feel scared or like I wanted to - to run - and Patty. She went crazy too, just - didn't care about anything, wanted to open the djinn up and see his insides, like it was a pinata or an - an orange, I don't know..."

He rubs his sleeve back and forth over his face. "They're all dead now," he says, devoid of inflection. "I killed them all."

"Okay," she says gently, more because she has no idea what else to say. She keeps her hands fastened on the edge of the sheets while she frantically tries to come up with something to comfort him, but all she comes up with is a feeble, "Okay."

It seems to help though, in some small way - his shoulders slump, and his head dips further down to his chest.

She watches him as his breathing begins to even out, tension easing from his body as sleep creeps in to replace it. She waits until she knows he's drifted off, mumbling quietly into the pillow, before reaching out and running her fingers through the wild nest of his hair.

"You did what you had to," she whispers, caressing the pale strands. "I understand. I'm sorry. I just...I wish I had been...I could have..."

She sighs and lets her hand fall away. Soul continues to sleep, blissfully unaware, face still and peaceful. Her eyelids droop, and she allows herself to succumb to unconsciousness, hoping, for the first time since she was pulled out of her dream, that when she wakes up it'll be in the same bed she went to sleep in, with him beside her.

* * *

Sunlight warms her face, curving over her cheeks. She opens her eyes, squinting against the light, head feeling clearer and heart more peaceful than it has in days.

She attempts to sit up, but something curls against her, preventing her from moving. She looks down to see Soul's arm flung out across her chest, fingers twitching near her collarbone. Cold toes press against her bare leg, and she turns to find him face down in the pillow, mouth slack, still asleep. He whines a little when she tries to pull away, and she suppresses a smile, settling back against the headboard.

She lets her gaze travel down his body, relying on his breathing to warn her if he's about to wake up. She lingers on the muscles in his calves, the slouch of his back, the fine features on his face, itching to feel them under the skin of her fingertips.

He's objectively handsome, yes - even if she couldn't admit that, she's not so dense as to not notice the way some of the people they rescue fawn over him. And she’s _definitely_ not so dumb as to misunderstand when they proposition him, even though his only response is to scowl and shove their arms away if they get a little touchy with their flirting.

Handsome, yes, but none of them get to see the best parts of Soul, not like she does. None of them get to experience the childlike eagerness he exudes when he hears that one of his favorite artists is in a town they're passing through, or see the way his eyes light up when she surprises him by parking outside of the concert halls so they can hear the strains of music from inside. None of them get to be the person whose hand he holds on to when they're forced into crowded situations, or get to be the recipient of his grateful looks or teasing smiles.

If she tried to flirt with him, would he push her away too?

 _Doesn't matter_ , she tells herself briskly _._ She carefully extracts herself from his grasp, and he sighs before rolling over, seeking out the heat she left behind _. He's got –_

 _Five months_ , something hisses within her, and she pauses, listening despite herself – _five months, only five months –_

She slaps her face, _hard_ , then digs her nails into the soft flesh of her cheeks. The sting of pain helps to clear her head, chases away any traitorous thoughts.

 _He’s got_ another life _to get back to_ , she reminds herself fiercely. _You're not going to ruin that for him too._

They're partners. That's all.

They have more important things, besides. She tucks a blanket around him, gives one last affectionate glance at his sprawled out figure, and exits the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Tsubaki's sitting at the kitchen island, hunching over a mug she clutches between her hands. Maka's never seen her look so disheveled before - her normally smooth black hair is frizzy, pulled at a low ponytail at the neck, and the veins beneath her eyes shine purple through her pale skin.

"Morning," Maka says, immediately heading for the coffee machine.

"Ah, morning..." Tsubaki attempts a smile, but it quickly turns into a frown as she stares at the marble countertop in front of her.

She fills one of the mugs on the counter with coffee and leans against the sink. "You don't look like you got any sleep."

Tsubaki makes a noise that could be interpreted as agreement, and takes a sip of coffee.

"Soul filled me in on what you two found last night."

At this, Tsubaki looks up, something of a sly smile tugging at her mouth. "I noticed he didn't sleep on the couch or in the other guest bedroom."

Damn her face, and its inability to keep its cool whenever this particular topic is brought up. Maka turns away and begins opens the cabinets, doing her best to keep her voice steady when she says, "It was late, and I wanted to know what happened. We didn't want to wake you."

She can tell that Tsubaki's not fooled at all. "He told me that you don't sleep together, but I suppose he just wanted to give you space while you were recovering -"

"We _don't_." Mini Frosted Wheats jingle into the bowl and she sticks her head in the fridge to grab milk and also to hopefully banish the flush from her cheeks. "It was strictly - strictly just so we could talk. There's nothing going on between us."

"Mmhm. And is that because of you, or him?" She tilts her head. "Or is it both? Because it's very clear to me -"

"Did you want to hear what I have to say about the murder or not?" Maka snaps.

The teasing look in Tsubaki's eye fades, and some of the eagerness goes out of her shoulders. Maka almost opens her mouth to apologize, but fuck, it's hard enough figuring out what she and Soul are or aren't and it's - it's something only they can determine, something she doesn't need a billion other people chiming in on, no matter how well-intentioned they might be.

"A ghost can't use witch powers or spells," she says, watching the milk ripple as she stirs her cereal with a spoon. "So either there was another witch there with Mizune died, or you have two murderers with the same target."

"I see," Tsubaki says quietly. She looks like she's about to say more, but she's cut off by the ringing of her phone. She heaves a sigh, looking more weary than ever, and says, "Excuse me, I need to take this."

Maka watches as she swipes and raises it to her ear. "Hello?...Yes, hello Kim." Tsubaki cradles her head in one hand as she answers, "Yes, she's awake now. No, she said that it's not possible for a ghost to use - Kim, please, allow me to finish. Spirits cannot use spells, so it's most likely - we _talked_ about this, I don't want - _Kim_ \- Jackie, you agreed... Fine. I said I would consider it already, didn't I?...Very well. Yes. Stay safe, please. Goodbye."

Maka swallows a bite of cereal. "Doesn't sound like they're happy."

Tsubaki snorts, and rubs her eyes. "No. They've been calling me every three hours, demanding to know what's going on."

"You should just stop picking up," Maka suggests. "If it's important, they'll leave a message."

"They're just scared, and worried. Understandably so - another witch was murdered this morning, from one of the other covens in the surrounding area." Tsubaki sinks lower into her chair, saying, "I'm supposed to be protecting them. They're only apprentices still. Besides, what if one of them was being attacked and needed my help?"

"Hmph," Maka grumbles. "Sounds like they're more trouble than they're worth."

That startles a laugh out of Tsubaki, and she shakes her head. "Sometimes. But there are few covens that don't have problems." The chair squeaks as she stands up. "Ours is not so bad," she says, shrugging. "I was trained to handle worse. In comparison, our tiny little group is practically harmonious."

"Trained?" Maka repeats as Tsubaki takes away her empty bowl.

"The Nakatsukasa coven is large, and distinguished," she replies. "One per generation is chosen to lead it, to become the Will. Generally it's a decision based on aptitude and prowess in witchcraft, though diplomatic skill does play a role." She closes the dishwasher door, leans against it. "I am to be the next, when the current leader steps down."

"It sounds like it's a pretty big deal."

Tsubaki inclines her head. "It is."

Maka frowns. "So why do you sound like you're dreading it?"

At this, Tsubaki pauses. "It has many more members than I'm used to handling," she says carefully, as if she's recited this many times before. "And the Will is required to stay in Japan, to live on the estate and help oversee the training of the newer generations." She smooths her hair down with the flat of her hand. "I've gotten used to Arizona, I suppose. I will miss it when I have to leave."

"...Is that really it?" Maka asks to Tsubaki's downcast expression.

She gives another shrug. "Perhaps not, but I don't have much choice in the matter. I was chosen, and I've been prepared to inherit the title since before I learned my first spell."

"Yes, but - but you should have a say in what you get to do!" Maka insists, something inside her flaring at the simple resignation in Tsubaki's voice. "Just because everyone else tells you, or expects you to be -"

"We don't always get what we want in life," Tsubaki says quietly. "My family and my ancestors are counting on me to become the Will - to suddenly declare a different path would be to cut myself off from my entire clan, from my parents and my cousins and my homeland." She looks down at the mug in her hands, then looks back up at Maka. "It's okay," she says smiling, and the sudden familiarity of it - of the corners that turn more downwards than up, of the overly stiff lower lip that keeps it from trembling - makes Maka want to cry for both of them. "It is what it is. And I am skilled, and capable - the Nakatsukasa coven will do well under my leadership." Her expression holds for a minute before it slips, and she says, more uncertain, "I'm sure I'll learn to like it, in time."

"...Then I hope you do," Maka murmurs, heart breaking a little, and Tsubaki rests a kindly hand on her shoulder.

Their moment is interrupted by the shuffling of feet, and Soul soon appears, yawning. He stops and blinks at the two of them. "...Morning," he greets them, hesitant.

"M-morning," Maka says, sniffing. She attempts a smile. "Coffee?"

"...Yeah," he says, and Maka busies herself with making him a cup as he takes a seat. She can feel his concerned gaze on the back of her neck, but he doesn't say anything.

"How did you sleep, Soul?" Tsubaki asks him.

"Ah - great, actually," he answers, accepting the mug. "Think I actually got six hours." He does look healthier - the perpetual hangface of exhaustion he sports when the nightmares are particularly bad has lifted a little, and he actually gives her a shy grin over the rim instead of his usual 'do not even attempt to talk to me until I've had three of these mugs' glare.

"Maybe you should just keep sleeping with Maka while you're here then," Tsubaki suggests, far too innocently for her to not know the implications of her wording.

Soul nearly spits out his coffee, face turning a shade of crimson that probably can't solely be attributed to nearly inhaling liquid. His eyes meet hers, and beyond his usual 'I had nothing to do with this please don't hit me with your book' look, there's something else, something a little more serious. Her cheeks are as warm as his and is he - is he actually contemplating -

"What do you think, Maka?" Tsubaki asks sweetly.

"I'm going to take a shower," Maka declares hastily, nearly slamming down her mug and stalking away to the bedroom. Clothes go flying as she digs through her suitcase for something acceptable to wear, and _damn_ that Tsubaki, damn her for making things awkward and putting ideas on her head - damn her for making her think about her choice of what to wear from Soul's point of view instead of the weather's -

Her phone gives off a ring, and she nearly rips it from its charger. Another message awaits her, and she stabs in her unlock code, to be greeted with:

 **DENGU:** _no luck. nothing in any of my books or from any demons interrogated. sorry. have you tried asking jinn. might be able to help._

"Jinn - he didn't have anything - he said I should ask you!" she yells, glaring at the text before flinging it onto the bed. "Goddamn it!"

"Maka?"

She whirls - Tsubaki stands in the doorway, looking uncertain.

"What?" she shouts. "Come to see if you can trick me into confessing things to him when you know I don't want to? You know, there's a good fucking reason I haven't said -" she lowers her voice, aware of how close the kitchen is to the bedroom, growling, "what _apparently_ is so obvious that everyone but him can see it! He's - he's -" _not interested,_ she wants to say - _deserves better, doesn't want to stay, would only end up resenting me like my parents did each other_ -

 _Only has five months left_ , comes the cruel voice of truth again, over the wall of conviction and willful ignorance she's so painstakingly built. Every text and email and call she's gotten runs through her head, the words themselves a blur but the tone unshakably the same - _your partner is going to die._

"Forget it," Maka says gruffly. "Just - what do you want?"

Tsubaki twists her hair in her hands. "I -" she begins, casting her eyes down, "I just wanted to say that I was sorry…" and she looks so genuinely miserable that Maka finds herself relenting almost immediately.

"It's - it's okay." She looks away. "…Shouldn't've yelled," she mumbles. "Just caught me at a bad time."

In the periphery of her vision, she can see Tsubaki's eyes land on the screen of her phone, still displaying Dengu's text. "…I see," she says softly. "I take it you've had no luck so far then -"

"I still have time," Maka snaps, snatching it off the bed. "Just - just because no one has found anything yet doesn't mean there isn't a way - that I can't -"

She breaks off, swiping at her eyes and taking a deep breath. "I still have time," she repeats, trying to keep her voice steady.

"You do," Tsubaki says softly.

"T-there's still ten more people,” she stutters. "And - and the other people said they were still looking so they might call back, maybe they'll come across something…"

"I'm still looking as well," Tsubaki reminds her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Maka closes her eyes and leans into her, breathes in. "And perhaps the answer isn't something that they can find, but something you can discover." Something in her voice changes, becomes more deliberate and careful when she says, "I designed the spell that holds my brother, you know. The ability to hold a soul in limbo for as long as was needed - it was something that no one could tell me how to do."

"How does it work?" Maka asks, sniffing, and lets Tsubaki's soothing voice sweep away her fears, drown out the constant chorus of doubts that begin to ring more like truth with every month that passes.


	7. the ghost

"I need to run a few errands," Tsubaki says later that afternoon as she tosses a cashmere scarf over her shoulder. "It may take me a while, so please don't be alarmed if I don't return until late tonight."

"Do you need any help?" Soul asks. "Maka's back at the books and she's probably going to be dead to the world for a while, so I could tag along if you wanted -"

"No, no I'm sure I'll be fine," Tsubaki says quickly. "Thank you for the offer though." She finishes lacing up her heeled boots and straightens up, accepting his offering of an umbrella. "There is lasagna in the fridge if you'd like to heat that up for dinner."

"Sure," Soul says, "thanks," and with a brief smile she's off, closing the door behind her.

Well, now what? It's raining, so the plants don't need to be watered outside. He's already finished all of the other little assignments Tsubaki gave him for her business. Maka's holed up in Tsubaki's study, pouring over the history books, and he has the sinking feeling that it would result more in him staring at the furrow in her brow and trailing his gaze up and down the curve of her spine instead of actually being useful.

Which normally wouldn't be that big of a deal - lord knows that there'd been enough times in the past where he'd abandoned research for napping, lulled to sleep by the boring passages and the sound of turning pages, and Maka tends to block everything out when she's reading. But she hadn't really spoken to him all morning, not after Tsubaki's _very unnecessary_ suggestions, and he's too afraid to approach her about it.

He should have never fallen asleep beside her last night. It only left him feeling more lonely when he woke up without her there.

Head muddled with conflicting feelings of longing and uncertainty, he decides to head to the basement to dig out the bulbs that Tsubaki had mentioned wanting to plant later this week in the rain-softened dirt.

The light fizzles and blinks before glaring bright, illuminating the tidy piles of junk and neatly stacked boxes. His eyes scan for the bright green container she described to him, and fall upon the trapdoor.

Something has him walking to it and unlatching it - a suspicion that has been brewing in the back of his mind for a while now. _Trust your instincts_ , Maka always tells him, and he's had enough experience by now to know she's right.

He descends the ladder, hand feeling for the pouch of salt on his belt. The passageway is much the same as it was before, though a little colder, and it's not long before he comes to the small room at the end. The wood of the door is well-worn under his palms, and he prays that he doesn't find what he thinks is behind it as he pushes it open.

The slant of light reveals the same shelves, bookshelves, writing desk -

The jar is gone.

Maybe she's just moved it. Maybe it's _not_ her brother that's been killing people lately - but where would she put it?

He begins to move around the room, noting shards of glass from knocked over vials of herbs and the scratches on the wall that bisect some of the warding symbols, which no longer glow or pulse with magic. Someone broke in and took it, he deduces - someone who knew enough about witchcraft to know exactly how to disable the spells guarding her brother's soul.

Why did she keep this a secret? Who would have taken it, and why?

He rushes back to the basement, back up the stairs to the house. "Maka?" he calls, making a beeline for Tsubaki's study. "Maka?"

She hasn't even heard him, still zoned out in a book. "Maka," he says urgently, striding over to her.

She jumps as he slaps a hand down in front of her, and glares up at him. "What, Soul, I'm trying to -"

"I know who the ghost is," he interrupts, already tugging her up out of her chair.

"What? Who?" she asks as he pulls her along the hallway. He doesn't answer, just guides her quickly down to the basement and further to the small room. He pauses at the doorframe, and points at the conspicuously bare stand.

Maka stares, darting quick glances back and forth between him and the distinct lack of soul on the table. She's about to say something when they hear the garage door open above them.

They freeze, looking at each other with wide eyes, before whirling to face the ladder as someone comes down it.

Tsubaki turns, and Soul watches as her expression cycles from shock to anger to fear before it melts away and forms the impenetrable mask he's learned to associate with her. "What are you doing down here?" she asks, almost sadly.

"Tsubaki..." Maka steps forward, and Soul can see the way her sleeves come up to cover her hands as she reaches for the pocket knife she stores in them. "Where's Masamune?"

Tsubaki regards her, face impassive, looking not at all intimidated as Maka takes another threatening step.

"I'll ask you again - where is Masamune?" Maka demands. Soul's drifted alongside her unconsciously, her wariness making him finger his own blade.

"I had this under control," Tsubaki says quietly, ignoring them. "You didn't need to get yourself involved, but you insisted -"

"Tsubaki. Where. Is. Masamune."

"I'd suggest you stop there," Tsubaki says suddenly, halting Maka's slow advance. "I don't want to hurt you."

Maka swells with anger and Soul places a hand in front of her, blocking her progress. "How long has he been gone, Tsubaki?" he asks lowly. "Why didn't you tell us?"

She lifts her chin, the arch of her neck a proud line, but Soul can see the tremble in her lips as she says, "I told you, I had this under control. I didn't need your help -"

"Under control?!" Maka bursts out. "A man and one of your witches murdered, and you call that under control?"

Tsubaki's eyes are bright, too bright, but no tears grace her cheeks as she glares back. "That wasn't -"

"Or did you know it was going to happen, if it was all _'under control'_ -"

 _"No!"_ Tsubaki spits, and both of them take a step back at the venom in her tone. " _This_ is why I didn't tell you - because I knew, despite all I've done for you, despite advising you, and taking you in, and _saving your life_ , you'd immediately decide I was the culprit, all because I'm a witch!"

She raises her hands, and a powerful force pushes them back down the passageway, shoves them into the small room. "I'm sorry," Tsubaki says, and invisible chains cinch Soul's wrists to Maka's, forcing them back to back. Tsubaki steps past their struggling and picks up the spellbook on the writing desk, sounding genuinely contrite when she says, "I just don't have the time to explain it to you, not right now. I promise that when I come back after rescuing Masamune from Mabaa, we'll be able to talk."

"Tsubaki -!"

The door clicks behind her, and Soul and Maka are left in the darkness.

"Good going, Maka," Soul gripes. "Fucking piss her off more, why don't you -"

"I wasn't accusing her!" she snaps. "I was just trying to point out that she clearly didn't have anything under control, and that we could have helped, not - not call her a murderer!" He yelps in pain as she nearly wrenches his shoulder out of its socket trying to pry her wrist away from his. "Ugh, why did she have to use magic? There's no way we can break free of these."

"Guess we're stuck then," he says, sighing.

"Don't sound so nonchalant! She's clearly going to do something dangerous - we have to help her!"

"How?"

"Just - follow my lead."

Sharp boney shoulders press into the middle of his back as they attempt to stand up, using each other to balance against. She tugs them over to the door, shuffling so she can get a hand around the doorknob, and the back of her wrist brushes against his as she attempts to twist it.

Unsurprisingly, it's locked. Maka swears, and kicks the door hard. It doesn't budge.

"Soul, help me," she demands, smashing her foot against the wood.

"It's not gonna work," he points out, but gives a halfhearted kick. Unsurprisingly, the door remains as solid as ever, though his toes aren't happy about the abuse.

"Argh!" Maka cries, leveling her frustrations out on the wood. "She doesn't understand how dangerous poltergeists are, and thrown spells don't work against ghosts like they do people! She's going to get herself killed!"

"Hey," Soul says sternly, fumbling for her hand. He can't really hold it with the way their wrists are held together, but he manages to partially lace his fingers with hers. "Tsubaki is pretty powerful, and she was there when we told everyone how to deal with ghost. I'm sure she'll be able to hold her own."

She pauses, knee half-raised to kick again. "…Am I that bad?" she asks, sounding hurt and vulnerable. "I didn't - I know I wasn't the nicest when we first met her but if she had told us I wouldn't have - I didn't think it was her -"

"You do kind of have a thing against witches, and other monsters," Soul says truthfully. Her shoulders slump, and he adds, "But I think Tsubaki is also dealing with issues of her own. I thought that she'd been acting a little…weird, jumpy and distracted, but we don't know her well, so…"

"I'm such an asshole," she mutters. "It's all my fault that she didn't talk to us -"

"Maka, no, stop it." He gives her fingers a little shake. "Tsubaki decided whether to tell us or not. She knew we wanted to help, and she chose not to use it. It was her choice. And I'm not sure if she would have said anything even if we weren't hunters - she didn't say anything to her coven, even though they -"

Footsteps sound above them, and they look at each other, before attacking the door with renewed fervor. "Help!" Maka yells, Soul adding his own voice to her cries. "We're trapped down here!"

Presently they hear tumping down the rungs - many of them. Voices float through the crack at the bottom of the door, sounding like arguing.

"Hey! Let us out!"

"-if Tsubaki left them in there, then -"

"Eruka? Jackie?"

A pause, and then, "The hunters?"

"Listen, Tsubaki locked us up and bound us together and she's going after the ghost herself, you have to free us so that we can help her!"

There's a muttered conversation outside the door, then chanting and the door springs open. He squints in the sudden light, trying to make out the three witches in front of him. All of them look terrified, staring at them with wide eyes. Jackie favors her left arm, Kim's hands are crumpled into furious fists, and Eruka's face is pinched with fear and anger.

Kim reaches out for their wrists, and adopts a look of concentration; the invisible chains loosen, and Soul's able to pull his hands away from Maka's, wringing them out.

"We have to go after her," Maka's saying, already moving towards the ladder. "She doesn't know what she's getting into -"

"What _are_ we getting into?" Eruka asks somewhat meekly as they follow her up.

"What happened to your arm?" Soul asks Jackie as Maka disappears into the main part of the house.

She looks shaken, face pale, but her voice is steady when she says, "The ghost. It showed up at the tea shop when we were closing up - we couldn't salt the area there, obviously. It took a swipe at me before we were able to make it disappear."

"We called Eruka, tried calling Tsubaki but her phone was off, so we came here instead…"

"She's going after the Mabaa coven," Soul says. "She thinks that…" He hesitates. "She thinks they're connected with the ghost, somehow." 

"It didn't sound like it was going to be a social visit either," Maka says, returning with their weaponry and equipment. "Do you know where the coven's headquarters are? Or where Tsubaki would most likely head for?"

Jackie nods. "We can take you with us. But you need to promise that you won't hurt any of the witches there."

"You don't think that they might have something to do with the murders?"

"No way! They're not that bad." Kim crosses her arms. "I know Tsubaki has something against witches who borrow their powers from demons, but not everyone is as lucky as she and I are, or have as much time as Jackie does to learn."

"And they really do take care of their apprentices,” Jackie adds. “There's enough of them so there's always one senior with one or two beginners, and I know their experiments can be dangerous but they've been doing a lot of good too -"

Maka's frowning at Kim, and Soul jostles her, giving her a look as he says, "Okay, okay, no killing unless they attack us." He grabs his shotgun from her. "Right, Maka?"

Her expression doesn't lift, though she says, "Right."

"T-that's a real gun," Eruka stutters, eyeing it with trepidation.

"It's loaded with salt rounds - it's for the ghost, not for Mabaa. Speaking of which." Soul digs out a couple of pure iron items Tsubaki had on hand, and passes them out. "Keep these with you."

Kim smacks the fireplace poker into the palm of her hand, while Jackie makes a couple of swings with an antique lantern. Eruka clenches the cast iron skillet and says, "We can take my car -"

"The jeep will be better, it'll fit us all," Maka says, still frowning. "I'll go ahead and get the car started, it's cold outside."

"It's not that -" But she's already gone, and Soul's tasked with herding three nervous witches into helping him carry the gear up the stairs.

The rain has thankfully stopped by the time Soul and the three witches arrive back in the living room, and Maka's already waiting outside for them, arms crossed. She watches intently as they file out the front door, Kim and Jackie struggling to lift the heavy duffel bag between them, Soul watching to make sure they don't drop it.

"Come on, Eruka," Maka says, and Soul turns to see Eruka still hovering at the threshold of the doorway. "We've got to get going."

"Y-yeah." She fidgets nervously. "I um, th-think I might have left something back -"

"You can't, can you?" Maka asks, certainty in her voice. There's a predatory look on her face as she crosses the lawn, and Eruka takes a further step back, cowering. "Didn't happen to notice my line of salt above the doorway, did you?"

"W-what? No, I just -"

She lets out a shriek as the salt hits her, fizzling and leaving scorch marks on her skin. Maka smirks. "Here's another lesson for you witches," she says, crossing her arms. "Demons are just as vulnerable to salt as ghosts are, and higher ones aren't affected by iron."

Kim and Jackie gape at her. "How did you -"

Tinkling laughter erupts, drowning out the sizzling hiss of flesh. Eruka looks up at them, wide grin on her face. "It took you long enough," she mocks, and gone is any trace of the timid witch that stared at the gun in Soul's hands with apprehension. Hatred twists her delicate features, and she sneers at them. "And here I thought you were supposed to be one of the best, Maka."

"Found you out, didn't I?" Maka says, waving off the insult. "Now, who the fuck are you, and how long have you been parading around as Eruka?"

"You don't recognize me?" she pouts, and Soul knows that flash of red that flickers in her eyes.

"Medusa," he growls, and a smile spreads over her face, slow and coy.

"My dear Soul," she purrs. "You know, I haven't heard from you in a while. How cruel of you to kiss and leave." She shakes her head. "But then, I have heard you've been busy. Haven't you, my little prodigy?"

He ignores the outbreak of gasps from Kim and Jackie. "Shut the fuck up, Medusa. What are you doing here?"

"Well," Medusa says, inspecting her nails, "I decided that I couldn't just wait for you to call on me. A girl needs to be independent, you know. So, I decided to see what was up with my old contractor Masamune." She clicks her tongue. "Always was a strange one, you know. Much like yourself, but more angry and wild. You've got far more will and spark than he ever had. Anyway. Since you two had so kindly showed me where he was being kept when you came here the first time -"

"How -"

"I keep a close watch on my investments, Soul," she interrupts, waving a hand. "Or at least, I used to, until you got that ghastly thing." She gestures to the necklace around his neck, then continues. "It was a simple thing to use Eruka to sneak in and disable the wards. I could have just freed him, but then I thought - why not have a little fun? Why not torture that bitch that denied me the soul that is so rightfully mine?"

From the corner of his eye, he can see Maka moving as slowly as she can towards Medusa, hand buried in the bag. "So,” he says loudly, trying to keep the demon’s attention on him, “you used Masamune to murder Mizune and that man."

Medusa beams. "Precisely. Tsubaki herself sold me the ingredients I needed to bind him. Lovely, isn't it?"

"Where is he?" he demands. "Where are you keeping him?"

"Hmm…" Medusa regards him thoughtfully. "I know. Let's have a race. Tsubaki should almost be at Mabaa's, ready to rain hell upon those she thinks are using her brother. And I have a feeling that at the same time she's threatening them, other witches will be dying around her - murdered by someone who looks very similar to her that appears to be under her control." She tilts her head. "Why don't we see who gets to her first - you, or Masamune?"

Eruka's mouth yawns open before they have a chance to react, oily black smoke ripping free from her body and escaping upwards through the ceiling. The vacated body thumps to the ground, and a low groan of misery follows.

"Shit!" Maka cries, hurling the holy water she had been sneaking out of the bag at the ground.

"What - what the hell just happened?" Kim demands, eyes wide as she clings to her girlfriend.

"No time to explain," Soul says, moving towards Eruka, but Maka's already there, helping her up.

"Listen," she's saying, using the low, calming voice she usually reserves for these situations. "I know this is all really confusing and scary right now, but I need you to work with me, okay?"

Eruka takes a hiccupping breath, then rubs at her eyes. The look on her face is fierce and determined when she takes her hands away. "Tell me what you need from me," she says.

"Do you know where Masamune is being held? How we can break this binding?"

She nods. "My house. There's a - a secret passage, behind one of the walls. She made it using magic and set up an altar there, with the soul as the focus."

"Good," Maka replies, giving her a brief encouraging smile before reverting back to seriousness. "You and I are going to go after Medusa and destroy that altar," and Eruka nods again. "Soul, you, Kim and Jackie go after Tsubaki. Convince her that Mabaa doesn't have Masamune, and come to Eruka's place as quick as you can."

"Right," Soul says, and Maka catches his arm as he turns to go.

"Be careful," she says quietly, green eyes searching his.

"You too," he says softly, but there's no more time to lose, and they break apart.

* * *

Maaba's headquarters are located on the outskirts of town, in a seedy-looking area dominated by boarded windows and faded signage, squat buildings sharing lots with dry desert scrub. Soul's so preoccupied with looking out for murderous ghosts that he doesn't realize they've arrived until Kim's leaping out of the Beetle, Jackie close behind.

He takes one look at the establishment and groans. "You're kidding me."

"Shut up, get inside," Kim snaps, shoving him through the doors of the strip club.

Neon pink and blue lights blind him, and he winces as he's pushed further inwards, nearly slipping on the checkerboard tile floor. Hearts are _everywhere_ , curled coyly on the barstools, blinking suggestively above leather couches surrounding tables and poles. A few patrons watch them curiously as they pass by, and one or two of the strippers wink at him, prompting him to scowl and hurry faster towards where Jackie's leading them.

He ducks through a door, Kim and Jackie prodding him further on, and the cutesy decor vanishes. They barrel down an ordinary looking hallway, passing dressing rooms and cleaning closets.

He can hear the sound of arguing getting louder the closer they get to the end of the hallway, and presently they come to a door. A tall, heavily made-up woman leans against it and straightens up as Soul approaches. She takes one long look at him, eyes raking him up and down, before asking, "You applying or paying?"

Soul sputters something incomprehensible, feeling embarrassed heat rise in his cheeks, before Kim says, "Shut up and let us in, Taruho. I can hear Tsubaki from here, we gotta talk to her."

Taruho snorts, but runs her manicured fingers along the doorframe. The door springs open, and they walk through to heated conversation.

"- know you have him, do not make me tear this place apart -"

"Please, you couldn't even flip this table with the wards we've put up -"

"Would you like to bet?" Tsubaki snarls, and the male witch gulps as the objects in the room rattle ominously.

"Tsubaki!" Kim yells.

She startles, tables and chairs settling back in their places with a thump. "Kim? Jackie? _Soul_?"

"It's not here," he says quickly, "Masamune, they don't have him -"

"That's what we've been trying to tell her!" the man exclaims, setting his hands on his hips. One eye glows a red brighter than Soul's, and stares fixedly ahead as the other, a normal green, sweeps through them. "She burst in here, threatening us - how do we know you're not the one killing witches, huh?"

"How did you -" Tsubaki begins to ask, looking like a rug has been pulled out from underneath her.

"Eruka was possessed by Medusa, she's been the one using Masamune, we have to get over to her -"

"Eruka?" she repeats, looking more lost than ever.

"Eruka?" The man tilts his head, looking concerned. "Is she okay?"

"Come _on_ ," Jackie says, pulling on Tsubaki's sleeve, who offers little resistance as she's dragged to the door. "Maka and Eruka - non-possessed Eruka - they're heading over to her house right now, we have to help them -"

"Hey!" the man shouts, hurrying after them as they run back into the hall. "Hey, wait!" Long legs mean he catches up to them quickly, and he says, "I'm coming too!"

Tsubaki stops, and Soul nearly runs into her. "You all should stay here," she says firmly. "It's dangerous, and Eruka -"

"Oh shut up Tsubaki, if Free wants to come, let him," Kim snaps irritably. "And you're an idiot if you think we're just going to let you go by yourself! You're going to need all the help we can get -"

"This is my - my fault," Tsubaki cuts her off, and Soul can see the fear that crumbles her mask, the desperate scrabble for control to keep the overwhelming despair at bay. "I have to -"

"Tsubaki." Soul lays a hand on her shoulder, and waits until her deep blue eyes meet his. "You don't have to do this alone," he says, making sure each word reaches her. "Let us help."

An inhale. "...Okay," she says finally. "Okay, but please just...let me take care of Masamune."

Soul begins to say something, but stops at the meaningful stare she gives him, and finds himself instead repeating her words back to her: "He's your brother."

"Yes," she whispers. "He is."

Somebody shrieks behind them, and they all whirl around to see a scantily-clad woman bolt out of the dressing room. Another one follows, screaming, "G-ghost!"

Witches begin to pour in from both ends of the hall. Some of them halt, staring at Tsubaki, and look at each other briefly before walking purposefully towards them, lips moving to form words.

"Go!" Kim cries, tossing him the keys. Her iron poker glows red hot in her hands as she takes a stance in front of them. "We'll handle this!"

"Masa -" Tsubaki begins.

"He's bound to the altar, come _on_ Tsubaki!" Soul yanks at her, making brief eye contact with Jackie. She nods at him and swings her lantern on its chain before squaring up on the other side of Kim.

"This way!" Free says, pointing to a nondescript door. He lopes ahead of them, holds it open as they burst out into the fresh, cold air. Soul quickly directs them back to the Beetle, and Free slides in the front seat. "I'll get us to Eruka's in record time," he promises, and Soul barely has enough time to put on his seatbelt before he hits the gas.

The car tears down the street, loose garbage fluttering in its wake, and Soul can only pray that that Free can make good on his promise.

* * *

"Kaerogu gekoru," Eruka whispers, and the smooth surface of the wall melts underneath Maka's fingertips. The passage beyond stretches downwards, flickering blue light studding the roughhewn steps.

"Wait," Eruka says as Maka makes to go down. She traces a symbol out on the floor; it glows a faint green, and Maka can't help but admire its shape, the perfect curves and elegant sweeps -

Eruka gently turns her head around, back towards the passage, and Maka blinks. "Don't look at it."

"What is it?" she asks, shaking the strange magnetic pull away.

"A marker." Eruka takes the lead as they descend. "Medusa put up a lot of charms and wards to hide this place, since we sometimes hold our meetings here and she didn’t want to be discovered. But as soon as the others get within range it'll call out to them, and they'll know exactly where to go."

"Oh," Maka says, and concentrates on watching her footing, trying not to slip. The scraping of their feet against the stone sets her teeth on edge, and it feels like the shadows are watching them as they pass. The eerie lights seem to leech color out of their clothing and skin, and more than once Maka has to stop herself from startling and lashing out at the fluttering of Eruka's dress, so primed is she to look for spirits.

"How did you know?" Eruka asks after a while. "That I was possessed?"

"You made a contract, didn't you?" Maka replies. "For your powers," and Eruka looks away. "Kim implied as much, when she said that she and Tsubaki were lucky to have their powers come naturally, and that Jackie had time to learn as a student. You weren't included in either of those categories."

"Tsubaki doesn't know," Eruka says softly. "I was afraid that she'd ask me to leave if she did." She frowns. "But what does that have to do with being possessed? It doesn't mean we're in the league with them or that they have access to our bodies - Medusa wasn't even the demon I contracted with."

"I've been doing my research on witches," Maka explains. "Borrowers like you have more powerful magic, at least initially, right? So you could have stolen the soul jar, and Tsubaki wouldn't have suspected it because you were keeping your actual powers hidden."

"But - why possessed? I could have just been another witch, trying to get one up on a rival, or just wanting a free soul for a spell..."

"Yes, well..." and it's her turn to look away. "I didn't want to jump to conclusions." She shrugs. "It was a lucky guess, either way. We've been up to our eyeballs in demons lately."

The stairwell broadens near the end, and shortly afterwards Eruka leads her into a dimly lit room. There's a strange heady smell to the area, something musky and overpoweringly sweet, covering up the faint hint of rot underneath. Candles line the entranceway, blue flames pinching upwards towards the ceiling. Images of snakes slither on every surface, tangled around walls and curled up on the tiles, paint gleaming a dull, dark red.

Tucked into a corner is a wooden structure, twisted limbs of trees lashed together to fashion a sort of triangular table, festooned with herbs and bleached bones. In between puddles of wax and decaying plants sits Masamune's soul jar, pulsing gray below the runes on the glass.

"That's it," Eruka whispers. "Ugh, it's going to take me forever to clean this place up."

"Do you know what we have to do?"

"Not sure, but it's tied to the altar..."

"Good. Watch the door." She advances, raising her crowbar.

"Oh, no no no, this won't do at all."

The breath is knocked out of her as she's slammed against the wall, crowbar clattering to the floor. She hears Eruka yell before being flung across the room.

The painted forked tongue of a snake caresses her cheek, slitted eye staring blankly at her. The image convulses, somehow, and the lines begin to move, sucked away from the wall and down to the floor - she follows them with her eyes as all the drawings in the room seem to coalesce into a dark blob to her right. It bubbles, then stretches upwards from the ground and forms solid curves, features...

Medusa shakes her head at them as the color returns to her skin. "The two of you, against the Queen of the Crossroads? This is just sad."

Maka can hear Eruka struggling against Medusa's hold, saying, "Tsubaki will -!"

"Never find her way here in time to rescue you." Cruel, mocking laughter bounces strangely off of the walls. "Or did you think your little beacon was going to slip past me? Really, Eruka, you're just as stupid as your teachers said." She moves out of Maka's vision, heels clicking as she crosses the room. "Though," she continues, "not without your use, I suppose. Who would ever believe timid little frog-freak Eruka would be capable of stealing a soul and killing people? Not anyone, apparently, not even Mizune."

"Don't you _dare_ talk about her!" Eruka shouts, heels drumming against the wall. "She didn't deserve what you did to her!"

"You mean what _you_ did," Medusa says. "Whose magic shorted out those wards? Whose hands were on the altar later, when you commanded the spirit to kill her -"

"Leave her alone, Medusa!" Maka yells, still trying to twist around to face her.

A pause, and then her chin smashes back into the wall. "Ah, Maka Maka Maka," Medusa says as the metallic taste of blood fills her mouth. "Fine. Let's talk about you. Did you really think you could just waltz on in here and ruin all my fun?" She clicks her tongue. "Of course you did. You've always been stupid. You still think you'll break your precious Soul's deal, still think you can somehow save him from going to hell." A hand seizes the back of her head, and pain explodes along her face as her nose is ground into the concrete. "He's mine, you smug bitch," she hisses into her ear, fingers digging into her scalp. "He's far too precious and talented to be with a waste of space like you."

Rough concrete takes a layer of skin off of Maka's face as Medusa drags it against the wall. "You're just a weak little girl, aren't you?" she sneers. "Still crying out for Mommy to save you from the bad monsters in the closet. Pathetic. She wouldn't have fucked up, you know. She would have killed that djinn before it got a hold of Soul or Wes. She wouldn't have dangled the promise of rescuing his brother over an innocent civilian's head in order to entice him to keep her company because she was _so loooonely_." Warm breath brushes past her ear. "You're nothing like her, and you never will be, you pathetic excuse of a daughter."

The world spins as Maka's flipped around, back scraping against the wall, and Medusa's eyes glitter. "I'll do Soul a favor," she declares. "I'm always looking out for him, you know, far better than you do."

Unbearable pressure crushes down on her heart, and she gags, doubling over, clutching at her chest. "I'll kill you - slowly, and painfully, of course." She can't breathe, can't expand her chest enough to get air - "Soul will mourn for a while, but he'll eventually give up and go back home." Black spots begin to dot Medusa's white, perfect teeth, wavering in and out as she grins - "And he'll be able to live out the rest of his short life back with his loving parents, playing the music he misses so much, being happy in the way you'll _never_ be able to make him -"

Medusa shrieks as holy water splashes over her, and Maka's granted the briefest reprieve from pain, canister falling from her weak grasp as she sucks in a lungful of air. "You fucking _bitch_ ," Medusa screams, and hands close around Maka's throat, lifting her in the air as Medusa rages, "I'll fucking kill you right now, I'll tear you to shreds, they'll have nothing left of your body, just like your fucking whore of a mother -"

"Let her go!"

Medusa's grip suddenly goes slack, and Maka crumples to the floor, coughing and gasping. She blinks away the darkness from her vision, and looks up.

A pale man stands in front of them. A tangled mess of long hair frames his face, and his eyes bore into Medusa, flat and dull. Hands fist at his sides, and his existence seems to flicker at times, like a television on the fritz.

Eruka points a triumphant finger at Medusa, other hand flat on the altar. "Kill her!" she commands Masamune.

He takes a step towards Medusa, then many, movements sped up like a fast-forwarded tape. Hands reach for the demon’s neck, his lips peeled back in wordless tormented rage.

Medusa backs away, then turns and runs towards the altar. Masamune disappears and reappears in front of her, cutting her off. She snarls, and reaches through him, ice forming on her fingers, to grab Eruka's wrist. "I knew I should have just killed you, you little brat," she hisses, wrenching the witch's hand away from the altar. Masamune disappears, and Eruka cries out as darkness slithers down Medusa's shoulders and winds its way up Eruka's arm. It rings its way up her chest, to her neck, and plunges down into her gullet as she opens her mouth to scream.

"I shared your body, you miserable freak." Eruka whimpers, eyes bulging in terror, and Medusa forces the shadow snake further in. "I know all about your nightmares, the things that make you scream and shake in the middle of the night - the feeling of soft teeth scraping away at the inside of your belly, the pain as they devour you from the inside out -"

Loud footsteps on the stairs, "- here, I can see, down -" and a man bounds into the room. Red glints from one of his eyes as he assesses the situation for less than a second before immediately charging forward.

Medusa drops Eruka's arm in surprise as he bowls her over and pins her up against the wall.

"F-Free?" she hears Eruka stammer.

"Get _off_ of me, you gigantic imbecile," Medusa grunts, and Free is hurled backwards, knocking into the altar. Wood crunches and bits of it scatter underneath his weight; the jar slips from its perch, but Eruka lunges and catches it, settling it gently on the ground.

Free staggers to his feet, and ice begins to form around his clenched fist as he growls, glaring at Medusa. She merely smirks, and flicks a finger – both he and Eruka yelp in terror as their feet leave the floor, clutching at invisible hands closing around their throat -

"Hey!"

Medusa flinches as the shotgun pellets hit her, and they thump to the ground. Eruka immediately crawls away to where Tsubaki stands, furious and intimidating, while Free quickly makes his way over to Maka and helps her up.

"You lose, Medusa," Soul says, staring down the barrel of his shotgun. He doesn't take his eyes off of the demon, but Maka can feel the concern and worry leaking off of him as she limps over with Free's assistance.

Medusa smirks. "Have I, Soul? I still get the grand prize in the end, don't I -"

She rears back again as Soul fires another spray of salt. "What was that?" he asks, calmly reloading.

"I see you're in no mood to talk," Medusa says. "Very well."

Quicker than they can react, she leaps at the jar and displaces the glass bell from its base. "No!" Tsubaki cries, reaching out, but it's too late - Masamune reappears, still with the same dead-eyed stare.

"M-Masamune," Tsubaki stutters, taking a step back.

Something becomes aware in his cold eyes, warming. His eyes travel around the room and land on her. His lips part and a deep, rasping voice intones, "Tsubaki."

He takes a step forward. "Tsu -" Another rapid sequence of barely seen steps. "-baki." A flickering and he reappears in front of his sister, looming over her. "Tsu-"

"Masamune," she breathes. "Brother."

A pause. "Sister," he says, rolling over the word in his mouth. Then - " _Murderer_."

"Have fun," Medusa says cheerfully, and disappears with a snicker.

* * *

_Masamune looks a lot like Tsubaki_  is the first thing that Soul thinks. Same long black hair, same high cheekbones and precise wrists. But there's nothing similar in the way they carry themselves - Tsubaki always holds herself rigidly, as if she's a bomb that will explode if she moves the wrong way, whereas Masamune looks as though he's only waiting for someone to set him off and give him an excuse to tear everything apart.

"Masamune," Tsubaki's saying, hands out to calm him, "we have to get you back, back into the jar - the wards will hold you -"

"You always did want to confine me," he remarks. His eyes burn like the cores of cold stars. "It was never enough for you that you were the only one that inherited the Nakatsukasa clan's powers, was it? No, no someone like you wouldn't be satisfied with merely casting spells - you needed power, you needed someone to lord over, like you lorded over me..."

"Masamune, I never - _no_!" she yells, thrusting out a hand. Maka pulls her swing in just in time to avoid crunching down on Tsubaki's hand. "He's _my_ brother! _I_ will deal with him!"

"That's _not_ your brother!" Maka argues back, still clutching the crowbar. "It's just a crazed, dangerous poltergeist! One that will kill us all if -"

The spirit flickers, then winks out. A yelp near the crushed remains of the altar and the bell jar slips through Eruka’s fingers as Masamune takes it away and places it gently on the floor. Then he's shoving his hands in her heart, frost trailing across her face, her lips pale as he squeezes -

"No!" Tsubaki sweeps a hand, and Eruka flies back towards the group; Free catches her in his arms, and she shivers in his grasp.

"Get them out of here!" Tsubaki orders, and Maka ushers the two back into the stairwell.

Masamune stalks forward, and Tsubaki crouches in front of them, hands splayed out on the ground. She doesn't move as he gets closer, and closer, and he seems to savor her stillness, a cat toying with a mouse.

"That's it, I don't care what she said," Maka mutters as she reappears next to Soul, sniffing away a string of blood from her nose. "We're taking out that jar."

She makes as if to run to the it, crowbar held aloft, but doesn't take more than three steps before meeting resistance. Blue flares around the room, encompassing the dueling siblings. "She's locked us out," Soul realizes, and Maka swears.

Tsubaki straightens up. "Brother," she pleads, spreading her hands in a gesture of peace. "Please. Return to the jar. I know I cannot bring you back to life but I can at least spare you the torment of hell!" Her face crumples as he ignores her and continues to advance. "Please," she begs again. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Oh, but sister," Masamune purrs, and his chuckle sends shivers up Soul's spine. "Oh, how I want to hurt _you_."

He grips her chin, pulling her towards him, and Soul can see how she shivers as he runs his fingers down her throat. "Spare me your false tears and pleas. You've always, always looked down on me, even before you manifested your powers. Always giving me the best prize, always going along with whatever I wanted to do, because you knew it was the only way I could succeed, wasn't it? Only if you _allowed_ me to. I could see the laughter and pity you hid behind that empty accepting smile - you knew, knew I couldn't stand your pity and yet that was the only emotion I ever had from you!"

Tsubaki's breath makes clouds of condensation as she gasps, "Masamune, no, I -"

"And finally, finally when I had received the power that was rightfully mine, what did you do?” She cries in pain as his grasp on her jaw tightens. “You shunned me! You rejected me! You couldn't stand it, could you, that my powers might exceed yours? You selfish, _selfish_ brat."

The heat in his voice abruptly vanishes, and those cold, dead eyes, a lifeless void, seem to suck all resistance out of his sister. "It was your fault I made a deal," he says, monotone. "Your fault that I'm still here, that all those people were murdered. Mizune's death is on your head, and my own death as well."

Tsubaki's face is frozen in a mask of despair, blue tinting her lips. Tears ice her cheeks as Masamune breathes, "Give it to me. Your soul - your life. It would only be fitting. You've always been so selfish, even as a child, and now is your chance to _make things right_."

The words unlock something within Soul, something that has him banging against the forcefield, crying, "Tsubaki, don't listen to him!"

Her eyes flicker over the ghost's shoulder and meet his, and he holds her gaze, putting as much empathy as he can into it. "You need to let him go," he whispers, knowing that she can understand him.

She closes her eyes.

"That's not your brother!" Maka's yelling next to him. "Your brother died ten years ago, that's _not_ _-!"_

Soul dives, tackling her to the ground as a bright, wicked blade nearly slices her in two. "This is a family matter," Masamune says tonelessly, raising for another thrust. "Interference will not be tolerated."

Maka shoves Soul away and the sword sends up sparks against the ground between them.

"Masamune!"

Tsubaki's holding his jar aloft, runes madly swirling on its surface. "Get away from them," she says, voice low. "I'm - I'm giving you one last chance. Please return so I can help -"

"I won't go until I see you roasting in hell beside me!" Masamune screeches, face made inhuman by fury as he flies towards her.

"So be it," Tsubaki says softly, and lets go.

The jar shatters, glass splintering into shards. Masamune's wordless shriek of rage rises higher and higher, and Soul claps his hands over his ears, wincing -

Then, everything is silent.

He opens an eye cautiously. Beside him, Maka's eyes are widening, lips parting in surprise, and Tsubaki's in the middle of throwing, tears trailing into the air and hovering there, frozen in time.

"What -" Soul begins, but there's a sudden movement and something's in the middle of the room now, a dark figure crouching over the small gray-purple soul.

"Hey," he shouts. "Hey!" There's no resistance anymore as he pushes his way towards the stranger. "Get away from him!"

The figure straightens up and turns, revealing itself to be a man. A blink, and suddenly the man's face is close, too close. His skin is pale, almost ashy, standing out starkly from his jet-black hair, and there's something… _strange_ about one half of his face, something that at first glance Soul can only describe as a shimmer - but all of that fades as the man's molten golden eyes bore into Soul's.

"Who -" Soul begins to say, when the man's face changes from a neutral frown to a snarl.

"You," he hisses, voice dripping with scorn. " _Abomination_."

He grips Soul's face, fingers as cold and as strong as steel. Soul attempts to fight back, but his body isn't responding to him anymore, limp and numb, and he hangs in the man's grasp. The world goes gray, and life retreats from his limbs, crawling into his esophagus and he coughs, feeling it stick in his throat as the man towers above him -

But just as Soul takes his last breath to vomit up his soul, he feels the hands withdraw from his face, and he collapses to the ground. Fire spreads across him as sensation returns to his body, and he risks a glance upwards. The stranger is staring off in the distance, frowning. Soul tries to follow his gaze, but sees nothing, and when he looks back, the man is gone.

"Soul?" Maka's voice trickles through to him, and he blinks. Her bruised and bloody face swims into view. "Soul, are you okay?" she asks again.

"Who -" He attempts to rise, Maka assisting him as his body makes a concentrated effort to sink downwards again. "Who was that man?"

"What man?"

"The - the man, the one who attacked me!"

"Masamune's gone, Soul, Tsubaki broke the spell tethering him here -"

"No, not him, the other -" Confusion refuses to clear from her face, and he sighs. "Never mind. I'll tell you later," he adds hastily at her stubborn look.

She accepts this, and then says, solemnly, "Eruka's going to stay at Free's place for a while. They're going to go back to Mabaa's, check on Kim and Jackie. I told him we'd take care of Tsubaki, and not to call until we call them."

Soul nods, looking over at the witch, slumped to the ground amongst the shards of the jar. "Go start the car," he tells Maka, accepting her hand up. "I'll get Tsubaki."

Her back forms a shield against him, and he knows better than to touch her. She doesn't acknowledge his presence as he crouches next to her, just continues to stare at the inert glass littering the floor. Each reflects a scattered piece of her features, stamped with the same broken expression.

"Goodbye, brother," she whispers.

* * *

Twelve hours later, hunters and witches together gather in Tsubaki's living room, waiting for Tsubaki and Free to emerge from the study. They're all looking a little worse for wear; Kim nurses a sprained wrist, Jackie sports a black eye, and Eruka keeps jumping at the shadows cast by the lamps. Soul looks immeasurably tired, face still drawn and pale, and Maka holds an icepack to her nose, doing her best to ignore the stinging of her chin and elbows.

There's the jostling of the doorknob and everyone straightens up as Tsubaki comes into the room, Free grinning behind her. He drops down next to Eruka, throwing a casual arm around the back of the couch, but Tsubaki remains standing, looking at them all in turn.

There's a moment of silence, during which Tsubaki attempts several times to break it, before she seems to shrink into herself, staring at her shoes.

"I have failed you all," she says, quietly, and waves off the many objections that arise from her simple statement. "No, please, allow me to speak. I have, in so many ways. I have failed as a sister. I have failed as a witch. I have failed you as your high priestess, and worst of all, I have failed you all as a friend.

"I did not tell you when my brother's soul was stolen. I did not allow anyone to contact witches that I knew had more experience than me in wardings and spirits. I did not notice when you, Eruka, were suffering, and I allowed my anger and prejudice to blind me when I went after Mabaa, alone."

She sinks into a chair, looking every one of them in the eye as she says, "Much of this could have been avoided if I had put my doubts and fears aside and trusted any one of you. If I had allowed myself to be vulnerable and ask for help when I needed it - if I had recognized that I never had any control over the situation." Her voice is low and haggard as she whispers, "Mizune and two other innocent people died because of my arrogance, and for that I cannot express my sorrow."

Eruka shivers, tears slipping down her cheeks, and leans into Free as he puts an arm around her.

"You're allowed to make mistakes, Tsubaki," Jackie says softly.

Tsubaki's lips curve upwards in a grateful smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I didn't call you here just to apologize, however. I also wish to inform you that I am stepping down as the leader of the coven."

Three voices squawk in outrage, then immediately begin to argue. Tsubaki raises her voice over them, saying loudly, "This is a decision that I did not make lightly, but I believe is the correct one. More than anything, what we went through today has taught me that I have much to learn, and as such I feel unsuited -"

"But you're more powerful than any of us, Tsubaki!" Kim exclaims. "And - and you're always so patient, you never get angry when I accidently set your curtains on fire -"

"And you practice pronunciation with me over and over," Jackie chimes in, "and you go out of your way to make me study guides -"

"And you care," Eruka says, fiddling with her dress. "You let me stay here until I was able to find a place when I joined, and you listen to us when we're worried or angry even if it doesn't have anything to do with the coven -"

Tsubaki holds out a hand, waiting for their protests to die. "That's kind of you all to say, but this is as much for me as it is for you. There are many issues I need to work out for myself before I feel able to take responsibility for others." She smiles, and this time her gaze is warm as she says, "Don't worry. Free has extended an offer to take you three on in Mabaa's coven, should you wish to join them."

Free shrugs. "Y'all are pretty talented, and were trained right too," he says. "Kim and Jackie really impressed the others with how they were able to fight the ghost and take out a couple of ours at the same time, and I know Eruka's a whiz with constructing stuff." He nudges her. "Still owe you one for helping out with the eye, anyhow," he says, winking as her cheeks dust with pink.

Later, after Kim and Jackie leave with their arms wrapped around each other, after Eruka and Free head back to his place, holding hands, Maka finds Tsubaki, alone, sitting on the back porch. The hinges of the hanging bench creak as she settles down beside her, and they watch the clouds chase each other under the cracked eye of the moon.

"I'm sorry," Maka says eventually. "About your brother. And Mizune. And…everything really."

Tsubaki's breath curls out in the cold air. "Thank you," she says simply. "And…I'm sorry too. For - for what I said, when you found out."

"I wasn't - I didn't think you were controlling him, Tsubaki," Maka says, feeling awkward. "I - I know I have issues, and I understand, kind of, why you would be afraid of telling me, but…" She rubs a finger along the bench chair. "I don't think that way, about you. And I'm trying not to, about other people too. Even if they're not, um, fully human."

"I know," Tsubaki says. "That's not the complete reason I didn't tell you though. It was because I knew that as hunters, it would be your duty to get rid of him permanently, and I just couldn't..." She trails off, toeing the porch tiles, making the bench swing slightly. "Besides," she continues. "I'm not much better myself, about not making assumptions about people." She graces Maka with a small smile. "I guess we both have a lot to work on."

Maka returns her smile. "How does it feel?" she asks. "To no longer have your own coven."

Tsubaki hums as she thinks. "Sad, a little," she says finally. "Concerning, for them and for me. But…honestly?" She turns to her with a girlish grin, looking far younger and happier than Maka's ever seen her. "Right now, it feels so…freeing."

The wind ruffles the leaves of the young plants and bushes in her backyard, bringing with it the promising smell of rain and the bitter taste of cold, but Tsubaki's hand is warm as she touches Maka's wrist. "I hope you find out that for yourself, someday," she says gently.

Maka closes her eyes, and the endless road stretching off to the infinite horizon is still stitched on the inside of her eyelids, a tattoo she knows she can never remove.

And yet...

"Me too," she whispers. "Me too."


	8. the outcast

Killing monsters is a dirty, dirty business. Maka's hair is tangled and slick with grime, there's the fetid taste of pickled flesh under her tongue, and her clothes splotched with the rusty red of blood, a color so familiar by this point she's pretty sure she could pick it out of a color wheel at Home Depot. Soul's not looking much better - he's almost completely caked in dirt, and smells like he had a hoedown with a backhoe.

"Fucking zombies," he grouses as they reach the motel. Flakes of mud fall like dandruff from his head as he runs a hand through his hair. "Going to take me all day to clean out the jeep tomorrow."

"Yeah, well, it's over," Maka says, trying her best to ignore the way her feet squelch with every step she takes. Her jeans are stiff and frozen and make walking more of an effort than it should be. They stagger into the motel room, and Maka sighs as the warm heat caresses her skin.

Immediately, Soul yells, "I call first shower!" and dashes into the bathroom.

"Noooooo!" she whines, waddling after him, but he's already closed the door and she can hear him stripping. "You take forever," she complains. "I should go first!

His only response is to throw his clothes at her, and she gags at the stink of sweat and dirt, thrusting it away from her. "Gross, Soul!" The water fitzes and sputters before settling into a continuous spray, and hot steam trickles out from the bottom of the door. "You better not use all the hot water!" she hollers, and he begins to whistle cheerfully over the sound of scrubbing.

She sighs, tossing his clothes in the corner before unzipping her coat and shrugging it off. She extracts her phone from its pocket, and turns it on to check the percentage, but the email notification grabs her attention instead -

_Dear Ms. Albarn,_

_I regret to inform you that I do not possess the information you seek on negating a pact made by an individual with a crossroads demon. As you well know, these deals are binding and seemingly absolute, with the exception of being able to coerce the demon into breaking it from their side._

_I must be frank: in the forty years that I have been studying up on demonology, I have never heard of anyone finding alternate means of slipping the terms of their contract, and I suspect that there is none. I truly hope that I am wrong, and should you find evidence of this I implore you to write back with the information, but in the meantime, I would suggest that you enjoy the time that you have left._

_Sincerely,_

_Enrique_

"Enjoy the time -" She can't even finish the sentence, hurling the phone onto the bed. She stomps her way back and forth across the carpet, no longer caring about the slush slopping onto the carpet and the slime trickling down the back of her shirt.

Another dead end, with nothing to show for it - and she doesn't have many options left. She closes her eyes, visualizing Papa's list in her mind, making a mental strikethrough on Enrique's name, leaving…

No one. She'd called, texted and nagged every single hunter, psychic and witch out that might know even the most basic facts about demons and deals. Absolutely every one of them came back with the same negative answer, with not a single suggestion beyond what she'd already tried.

_I have never heard of anyone finding alternate means…_

The crushing weight of hopelessness crashes over her. Abject terror begins to expand in her chest, pressing against her ribs and crawling up her throat and it's nearly February already, February - there's less than five months left, less than five months until Soul - until he -

The hard shell of the suitcase makes a hollow sound as she brings her foot smashing down upon it, and she kicks at it again and again, until she hears a faint call of "Maka? You okay?"

"I'm fine," she growls, giving the battered bag one last savage kick before forcing herself away, flinging herself into on one of the wooden chairs.

Fine. If she couldn't get anything from any of the people who did this for a living, she'll just have to try others. There could be tons of people who made a deal and were able to get out of it that Papa didn’t know. Maybe she could start looking into religious figures - hadn't Marie and Azusa once consulted a faith healer over a monster they were having trouble with? And it's been a while since she re-read any of her books, she could have glossed over something…

Her phone buzzes, and she scrambles to grab it - maybe someone had found something else -

"Hello?"

"Hello, Maka?"

"Nygus?" she says, heart sinking.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? It's good to hear from you again."

"Y-yes, it is!" she replies, pushing away thoughts of Soul's deal. "How are you doing? How's Sid?"

They exchange a few more pleasantries over the phone, panic easing away as Maka warms to the conversation. Nygus had always been one of her favorite hunters - quiet, deadly and sharp, stealthier than Mama, though with less raw power. Mama had thought highly of her too, let Nygus teach Maka how to throw blades with unerring accuracy and how to climb trees so quietly she could steal eggs from nesting birds without them knowing.

Finally, Nygus gets to the real reason she's called. "Have you heard from Black*Star recently?"

"Um…" Images of sharp fangs dripping with blood and blank eyes with slitted pupils flash through her head; she shakes them away. "How recently? I saw him maybe two months ago."

There's an edge of worry in her tone as she replies, "We haven't heard from him since then either."

"Oh. W-well, he was doing…"

 _You should have just killed me_.

"…As well as expected, when we saw him." She tucks a stiff piece of hair behind her ear. "But he could have just got caught up in a case…"

"I suppose." There's a funny quality to her voice, a thickness that Maka recognizes as fear, even as her words come out smoothly. "It's just - he hasn't been answering any of our calls. And It was Sid's birthday a few days ago, he always makes sure to call and wish him well, on the rare occasions he doesn't come home…"

"I'll call him," she promises. "Maybe he's gotten wrapped up in a case and needs some help."

A sigh. "Thank you, Maka," she says solemnly. "You've always been a good friend to him, even though…well, he doesn't have many that he can rely on."

She swallows down guilt. "Thanks Nygus. I'll let you know if I hear from him," she says, and hangs up.

"It's all yours," Soul announces, walking into the room with a towel wrapped around his midriff. "Who was on the phone?"

Maka looks away, focusing on shucking her winter coat and unlacing her boots rather than the way the water droplets slide down his neck. "Nygus - Black*Star's adoptive mom - called. They haven't heard from Black*Star in a while, wanted to know if I'd seen him." She chucks her outerwear next to Soul's dirty clothing and begins to peel off her socks. "That idiot. I hope he hasn't gotten himself in trouble again."

Soul shrugs as he rummages around in his suitcase for clean pajamas. "He was doing fine a couple days ago. Probably just avoiding them, what with the whole…you know."

She blinks. "How do you know that?"

"He texted me a picture of himself on top of some huge Paul Bunyan statue, bragging about how he's a bigger man than him, etcetera etcetera."

"He texted you?" she repeats dumbly.

"Yeah?" He digs out his phone from his discarded jeans, passes it to her. She scrolls back through their conversation thread, which mostly consists of Black*Star sending him dumb pictures and Soul complaining about whatever podunk town they had driven through recently. "He seriously needs to learn how to spell," Soul grumbles. "I can't decipher half the shit he sends me."

"I guess he's doing fine then," she says, pushing down a spike of jealousy.

Some of it must leak into her tone though, because Soul rolls his eyes at her. "You know, you haven't talked to him either. He's probably unsure if you want to hear from him."

"Of course I want to hear from him!" she says hotly. "Just - just because the last time I saw him he went on a rampage and almost killed me doesn't mean I don't care about him!"

"…That's probably why he hasn't contacted you," Soul sighs.

Maka fumes silently. "Maybe I _will_ call him," she says defiantly, stomping into the bathroom.

"Try to leave out that part about him 'going on a rampage' if you do," Soul calls after her.

* * *

It's later that night, late enough to be early morning, when Maka gives up on sleep and sneaks out into the cold February air. She shuts the door softly, cutting off Soul's mumbling and fitful tossing and turning. The dirty snow on the ground and the bitter whiffling of the wind are unhappy reminders of how long it'd been since the last time she'd seen Black*Star - since she'd stopped thinking of him as the goofy, obnoxious kid she'd grown up with and realized the danger of the heritage he struggles with. She shivers in her leather jacket - thank god she'd decided not to wear it last night - and dials with numb fingers.

The phone rings. And rings. And rings. She counts to eleven before they stop and heavy breathing replaces it. "Hello?" Black*Star says eventually.

"Star."

"…Hey Maks," Black*Star says. His voice seems lower than she remembers it, more raspy.

"How-how are you doing?" she asks, scuffing the sole of her shoe against splintered siding.

"…Doing okay. Uh…you?"

"Fine." She winces at the awkwardness. "Hey um, I got a call from Nygus…"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, they've been wondering where you are. You know, uh, Sid's birthday was a few days ago."

"Was it?" he says distantly. "I guess I must have forgotten."

"And they've tried to call you a couple of times, but said they haven't been able to get a hold of you…"

"Mmm."

"…Black*Star, what's going on?" She switches the phone to her other ear, lowers her voice. "You haven't, um…you're still eating…"

  
" _Yes_ , I'm still on a strict, no-human diet," he snaps. "Jesus. Is that all you called for, checking to make sure that you don't have to come put me down?"

She opens and closes her mouth a few times before spitting, "Well gee, _sorry_ for worrying about you. Haven't heard from you in two months, could’ve been dead for all I knew -"

"Last time I checked, _you_ had a phone too," he shoots back. "It's not like you've been jumping to talk to me either."

"I - I just…wanted to give you space," she says, lamely. "I know that this… _transition_ has to be difficult -"

"That's an understatement," he mutters.

"-but you could at least talk to Sid and Nygus -"

"Hey, did you say that you had a friend that was a witch?" Black*Star interrupts.

"I…what? Yes -"

"Does she know anything about other types of witches?"

"I - I would think so? I'd have to ask. But don't change the subject! Are you oka-"

"Listen, I need to go," Black*Star says, ignoring her. "But I'm working a case in Canyon City, Oregon, and there's some stuff going on that I think that witch friend of yours might be helpful for. Give her my phone number. See you later."

There's a click and Maka's left staring at her phone. She wishes very hard that she could throw it, preferably in Black*Star's stupid face.

…Maybe that's still an option.

She dials another number, waits for it to connect, and says, "Hi Tsubaki. Sorry if I woke you, I - oh okay, good. Hey, I was wondering, do you have anything going on this week? Because I have a case that I could use your help on…

* * *

"Are you sure he said to come meet him?" Soul asks skeptically, eyeing the evergreens that press close to the barely-there dirt road. "Kinda seems…out of the way. He knows we were in Utah, right?"

"He probably missed seeing your handsome face," Maka says flippantly. Soul rolls his eyes at her.

"And I guess it's just a coincidence that my phone mysteriously went missing right before we picked Tsubaki up and you told me the plan for driving out there, huh."

Maka shrugs off his accusations, pretending to concentrate harder on the road.

"…It is a nice face," Tsubaki says quietly from the back seat. "Don't you think, Ma-?"

"Oh!" Maka says loudly, "There's his truck."

That hasn't changed at least - its bright banana yellow is easy to spot, even if it is a couple of miles off the main road and surrounded by dense wood. The jeep barrels through scrub, Soul wincing at every branch that scrapes against the chassis, and eventually comes to a stop next to the truck.

"That's…quite a color," Tsubaki comments as she unbuckles her seat belt.

"Wait until you see who owns it," Soul says.

Maka ignores the building anxiety in her stomach as she gets out of the car. She tries to lean casually against the car, like she just happened to be driving in the woods roughly fifteen hundred miles away from her last location and thought this looked like a good place to stretch her legs.

There's a loud crashing from the bushes. "Hey fuckfaces," Black*Star barks as he comes into view, "take your weed and booze somewhere else, I've set up he - Maka?"

He pauses, mid-stomp, and gapes. Maka, for her part, can't stop herself from staring at him. Black*Star's always been scruffy, and she's long suspected that his idea of a shower is running around outside when it's storming, but he's taken the concept to new levels. His hair's even more out of control than normal, sticking up every which way, and its normal shocking blue has faded to a weary denim.

"Hey Star," and she's proud of how unruffled she sounds, even as her fingers twist nervous knots in her skirt.

He blinks at her a couple of times, before his face hardens. "What are you doing here?" he asks, accusatory.

She shrugs. "Said you needed help on a case, so…"

"I said," he rumbles, crossing his arms, "for you to give your witch friend my number, not to drag yourself out here."

Soul's dirty look is burning a hole in the back of her neck, and she ignores him. "I wanted to see you. It's been a while -"

"You went six years without seeing me before." He lifts a shoulder and drops it. "Didn't even introduce me to your partner, or y'know, tell me you had one. Saw you two months ago, and now you want to check up on me?"

"Yeah, well, maybe I missed your stupid face," she snaps. "Sorry for being _concerned_ -"

"Bullshit, you're only concerned about _humans_ -"

"Guys?" Soul ventures, and takes a step back at their twin expressions of anger, hands raised. "Maybe argue on your own time, yeah? We've kind of got a guest."

"Hello," Tsubaki says with a warm, genuine smile. "I'm Tsubaki Nakatsukasa, the, ah, witch." She holds out her hand to Black*Star.

Black*Star hesitates for the briefest moment, then takes it. "Tsubaki, huh?" he says, almost begrudgingly, but gives it a firm pump. Some of his old confidence creeps back into his voice as he says, "I'm Black*Star, the best hunter this side of the Pacific. Maka and I grew up together."

"She said as much to me on the drive up here."

"Yeah?" He tosses Maka an unfriendly glance. "She mention I'm a werewolf too?"

Tsubaki blinks. "Ah...no, that didn't come up."

"Yeah, she likes to forget about that," he replies, then lets go of her hand and turns to Soul. "Hey bro. Good to see you again."

"Stop sending me stupid memes, you jackass," he replies with a scowl, but there's no heat behind his words and he bumps Black*Star's fist with his own. "And get a dictionary, your spelling sucks."

"Almost as much as you - _hey-oh!_ " His grin only looks a little forced as Soul punches him in the shoulder.

Maka waits for him to turn to her, but Black*Star avoids her gaze, mouth still a stubborn line of resentment, and begins picking bits of leaves and twigs out of his clothing. Shame and anger burn their way through her stomach, seething beneath her skin, and she looks away, glaring at her reflection in the side mirror of the jeep.

Soul clears his throat. "So, ah, what are you hunting, anyway? All the way out here, might as well help, right?"

"Actually," Tsubaki says, before Black*Star has a chance to respond, "would you mind if we relocated?" She looks up, squinting through the dark boughs at the gray sky above. "I think it's going to rain soon."

Black*Star gives a sniff, though even Maka can taste the heavy tang of precipitation to the air. "Yeah, all right. Dunno if they'll be enough room in the truck for everyone but we can always make Soul stay outside."

"Hey!"

"It's only 'cause I'm betting you have the best grumpy-cat-in-the-rain face," Black*Star assures him. "Aww, yeah look, there it is."

"We could all go to the hotel instead," Tsubaki suggests.

"I think we passed a motel on the way up -"

"I took the liberty of getting us a few rooms at the Best Western while we were here, when Maka called." She fiddles with her phone, looking shy. "If that's okay with you."

"Best Western?" Black*Star repeats, growing excitement in his voice. "Like an actual hotel? Oh _fuck_ yes. I take it all back, feel free to tag along for any case I take, Tsubaki."

"I-it's nothing," she demurs. "My business has been doing quite well - thank you for helping with that, Soul, by the way - and so I had the money to spare..."

"Nah, not nothing," Black*Star says, waving off her modesty. "You got us all a place to sleep, that's downright awesome of you. Almost as awesome as I am," and the pleased look that dawns on Tsubaki's face is a treasure to behold. "Let's get going already! Hey, you think there'll be more than four channels on the TV?"

* * *

It's not the nicest hotel he's ever stayed at - nowhere close, to be honest, but in comparison to the shitholes they've been staying in for the last five and a half years, it's practically a mansion. Doors that actually lock, furniture that looks like it was made within the last two decades, and walls that don't seem like they're made out of paper - it's humbling what Soul appreciates now that's he's been out of the lap of luxury for so long. At least he knows he's never going to take certain things like decent toilet paper for granted every again.

Maka's poking around the place, making pleased noises at the discovery of things like jasmine-scented shampoo and water that gets hot in less than five minutes. She's worked her way over to the TV, and he hears a delighted gasp as she opens the cabinet underneath it. "Look Soul, a mini-fridge!"

"Don't take or open anything in it, or the room will be charged," Soul warns, flopping onto the bed. He rubs his face against the soft sheets, reveling in the feeling of fabric that isn't as scratchy as day-old stubble.

Somewhere above him, Tsubaki says, bemused, "It's just a Best Western-"

"Shhh," Soul says, closing his eyes and sinking deeper into the covers. "Let us have this."

After a minute, he unburies his head from the pillow and squints up at her. "By the way. I noticed that there's only one bed in this room. Is there a double and a pull-out couch in the other one?"

"Ah, no. Just two beds. The last room they had available was just a single." She gives him a rueful smile and a half shrug.

"Interesting," he says, narrowing his eyes at her. "You'd think that there'd be more than five cars in the parking lot, including ours, if they're that busy."

"Perhaps they closed some rooms for renovation," she replies smoothly. "Anyway, I thought you and Maka could share this room, and Black*Star and I would take the double."

If she's expecting some sort of embarrassed reaction, he's determined not to provide it to her. "Sure," he says calmly, and lays his head back down. Not like they hadn't shared a bed before - plenty of times they'd grabbed the _actual_ last room available in a motel which did end up being a single, and the jeep was such close quarters that it basically felt like they were sleeping next to each other.

The door between their rooms bangs open. "There's like, thirty channels on the TV and they have pay-per-view," Black*Star informs them. "And a mini-fridge under it too."

" _And_ they have room service, and a pool," Maka says eagerly. They share a brief, excited glance, but soon his features sink back into muted offense, and Maka scowls, shutting the cabinet door forcefully and crossing her arms.

"So, Black*Star," Tsubaki says quickly, "can you tell us more about what you need help with?"

He shoots Maka a dirty look, grumbling, "Didn't _need_ help -"

"What're we hunting?" Soul interrupts. "And what did you want to ask Tsubaki?"

Black*Star frowns, but beckons them into the other room where he's dumped all of his gear. "All right, so," he begins. "Got a call about six weeks ago from someone I helped out a while back. Said that she'd been keeping an eye out and found some worrying trends, wanted me to look into it."

Printouts flutter to the floor as he spreads out a map of the northwest United States. Red and blue dots form a connecting line across a wide range of cities and towns, far more red than blue, and the latest of which begin to trail into Oregon. He points to a town in Idaho, tapping the red. "Three people reported missing in this county in the first week of September." He shifts his finger down the line to the next red dot. "The next week, two people missing from this one. Week after that, another one in Owyhee. And it keeps going too, a couple here, a couple there, but at least one every week. Pretty suspicious, huh?"

"A little too suspicious," Maka says, craning her head to look closer at the map. "No one official has looked into it? That's a lot of people to be missing at once."

"Right, so, two things. First, turns out a lot of them are written off because they're homeless, or drug users - victims that no one would look too hard for, 'cause people are assholes." He shakes his head. "Fucking society bullshit. But second - and here's the kicker - maybe a month or two later, they come _back_. And according to my contact, they don't come back the same as they left."

Maka blinks. "What?"

"Lots of stray dogs, running around in the streets," Black*Star says meaningfully. "Lots of stray dogs that get pretty bite-y with other people, especially when approached with silver."

"Ahh," Soul says, nodding - then, at Tsubaki's confused look, explains, "Skinwalkers. Kind of like a cousin to the werewolf. Eat hearts, hurt by silver, infect with a bite. But they can fully change into an animal, not just grow claws and fangs, and they can do it any time they want, not just when the moon is full."

"So…some skinwalker is turning these people?" Maka asks. "And letting them go back to their initial area to, what, infect more people?"

"Exactly," Black*Star confirms. "The other hunters have their hands full trying to mop up the mess, so my contact asked me to look into what was going on. And I found something." His finger hovers above the map again. "See the blue? That's for every person that's died of some sort of weird 'natural cause' at the same time."

" 'Natural cause'?" Tsubaki repeats.

"That's what their obits say. And to be fair, they're usually old geezers or people with terminal illnesses, y'know, the ones no one would think twice about them slipping into a coma and then dying a couple of days later. But!" He slaps a piece of paper down, and the austere black-and-white photo of a middle aged man stares up at them. "They got cocky. Took down this poor sap in Vale. No health problems, no issues, nothing. Found him outside a building in some deep coma, died a few days later. They'd moved on by then."

"Who is _they_?" Maka asks, a hint of frustration in her tone.

"I think we're dealing with a shtriga," Black*Star announces. "A shtriga that's been moving from town to town with a skinwalker or two in some fucked-up plot to infect humans."

"A shtriga?" Soul cocks his head to the side, glancing at Maka, but she looks as befuddled as him.

Tsubaki, for once, seems to understand what's going on. "I see. So that's why you wanted to call me."

"It's a type of witch," Black*Star says, smug. "They're practically immortal, can live forever, as long as they keep eating souls." His shoulders slump ever so slightly. "That's all I could find out though. Don't know how to kill them or what they're weak to, so..."

"You wanted to ask me," Tsubaki finishes. "They _are_ quite rare - I've only heard mention of them once or twice in old texts, but I do know they're weak to iron, iron that's been consecrated."

"Pfft, is that all? Thought I might have to find some sort of sacred tree to make a stake out of or get some priest to bless my bullets ten times." He begins to fold up the map, though it's less like folding and more like stuffing it into a ball.

"This is all kind of a stretch though, isn't it?" Maka says, chewing on a knuckle. "I mean, a shtriga working with skinwalkers? Doesn't that sound...unusual? And why?"

"I'm just as good a hunter as you are, Maka," Black*Star snaps, bristling. He cuts off her outraged reply by fishing out a flyer from the pile and shoving it in her hands. "But fine, if you don't believe me, look at this."

" 'Tired of people mistreating you? Tired of feeling like an outcast, like you don't belong?' " Soul reads over her shoulder. " 'Find out how to take it all back and become part of something bigger than yourself.' " He squints at the crabbed writing at the bottom. "An address?"

"Picked it up off of some teen that fit the victim profile," Black*Star says. "Figured I'd go check it out tonight, bash some skinwalker heads in, kill a shtriga, save the day like normal." He winks at Tsubaki.

"Then that's what we'll do," Maka says firmly. "Don't even argue, Black*Star, you know it'll be easier with four of us."

"Fine," he bites out. "But this is _my_ case, and we're doing it my way."

"Fine," Maka says through gritted teeth. "Whatever."

"Knock it off you two," Soul sighs. "Come on, Maka, we both drove for like, ten hours and I know you didn't get much sleep when it was my turn. We should get some rest before things try to kill us again." He grabs her wrist and begins dragging her back into the other room.

Behind him, he hears Tsubaki ask, "Can I help you with anything?" but Black*Star's reply is lost as Maka slams the door behind them.

"Can you _believe_ him?" she fumes. One of her shoes thunks against the shared wall as she kicks it off. "Drive all the way up here to help him out, and this is how he treats us?" _Thunk_ goes the other, and she drops onto the bed, tucking her legs up underneath her and crossing her arms. " ' _My_ case, _my_ way' - whatever!"

"And how do you think you'd feel if Black*Star just suddenly showed up on a case you were working because he thought you couldn't handle it?" Soul asks, shedding his own shoes.

Spots of red flush high on her cheekbones as she grumbles, "I never said -"

"And we both know that's not really what's going on here," Soul continues. "Or did you really think that driving to Arizona and then all the way up to Oregon without saying anything to him was what he wanted?"

"…Was worried about him," she mumbles. "He didn't…didn't sound good, on the phone."

"Yeah, well, you have a funny way of expressing your concern," he says, rolling his eyes.

She falls silent, running her hand against the comforter while he collects their discarded clothing and piles them neatly by the suitcases. "…Hey," she says suddenly, looking around. "Why are we in Tsubaki's room?"

"We're not." He shrugs out of his jacket, tosses it on the back of a chair. "Somehow, Tsubaki was only able to get a double and a single bed."

She blinks at him for a minute, then groans, letting herself fall backwards onto the pillows. "Really, Tsubaki?" she asks the ceiling. "Really?"

He hesitates. "If you, uh, didn't feel comfortable sharing," he begins, scratching the back of his neck, "we could see if they could roll in a cot, or I could sleep in the car…"

"No, no," Maka says immediately, shaking her head. "It's not that. I'd rather sleep with you than by myself, but Tsubaki just -" She notices his stare, and breaks off, crimson rising to her cheeks. "…Ah, um, that is -" she tries to amend, curling in on herself, "not that - I…uh…"

 _That's_ interesting, now, isn't it? Soul pushes down the sudden flurry of questions and possibilities that bubble up from his subconscious, and manages instead to grunt out, "Shove over," as he rolls onto the bed. He buries his face in the pillow to hide his blush, listening to Maka shift next to him as she pulls the comforter over her.

"…I just don't like it when people try to define things for us," she says softly.

He gives a neutral 'mmm', then peeks at her through a fringe of white, staring a little more boldly when he sees she has her eyes closed. The warm yellow light slides gold into her hair, eases the furrow in her brow and limns the curve of her chin, and he's as helplessly magnetized to her as the cold, distant moon is to Earth, longing, always longing to be _closer_ -

"Joke's on her though," she sighs, words wilting with sleep.

"How's that?" he asks, watching feather-soft shadows her eyelashes cast on her cheeks.

She smiles, and oh, he could melt for that smile. "Black*Star snores louder than anyone I've ever known."

* * *

The address on the flyer brings them to what looks like an abandoned former restaurant a few roads off of what counts as a main street in the area. It squats, brooding in their headlights as they turn off into the parking lot. The jeep’s tires send ripples through the puddles as Maka carefully navigates the deep ruts and cracks in the asphalt.

“I still think I should go in with you,” she grumbles.

“You agreed that Black*Star was going to call the shots here,” Soul reminds her as he unbuckles his seat belt. “Someone has to keep watch, and god knows we can’t put the two of you together or you’ll just murder each other instead of whatever we find in there.”

She sulks as he checks his weapons, running his hands along his wrists, down the front of his jacket, patting at his ankles. It’s distracting, and she diverts her attention by getting out of the car and letting the cold droplets of rain wash away any thoughts not firmly focused on the task at hand.

Black*Star barely glances at her as he comes around the side of his truck. He gives Tsubaki a hand down from the passenger side, then nods to Soul. “Ready?” he asks. “Remember, you’re -”

“An angry young adult that’s never fit in normal society, ready to throw away my comfortable life in order to join some weird cult in hopes of finding a grander purpose.” Soul snorts. “Trust me, I got that down pat.” Maka looks at him curiously but it’s too dark to make out much in his expression.

“Perfect.” Black*Star scans the building, sizing up the place. “Over there,” he says to Maka, pointing to the despondent-looking shrubbery around the side. “You can watch the street for cops or backup, but be close enough to jump in if someone tries to get away.”

Maka gives him a tight nod before making her way over to the bushes, Tsubaki following behind. It’s muddy and the plants offer no cover whatsoever from the steady drizzle of rain, and Maka can feel herself souring with each passing minute as the other two head inside.

She’s playing the game of “what have we done that’s sucked more than this” and has just decided on this being worse than that last zombie when, through the plywood boarded side window, she hears voices.

“Do you hear that?” she whispers to Tsubaki, who, if she feels miserable, is hiding it a lot better than Maka has been.

“Yes,” Tsubaki whispers back. “Not well though.”

Maka eases upwards from the bushes and places her ear against the splintered wood, straining to hear over the sound of the rain on the concrete.

“...not supposed to be here, you _know_ that!” a deep masculine voice hisses.

“Why not?!” another demands, this one higher-pitched and younger sounding but just as angry. "I hate stayin' back by myself. You _always_ get to go to these things without me -"

“And you know that if I could, I would stay with you instead of being forced to participate in these disgusting meetings. But this is how it has to be, and I have forbid you from -”

“Problem?” someone new inserts, their voice a strange combination of gravelly and oily.

“...No.”

“Good, because we have three potentials here, and I need...”

The voices fade and Maka begins to edge along the wall, keeping low. She ignores Tsubaki’s worried ‘Maka!’ as she tries to pick up conversation again, and eventually hears the witch begin to creep after her.

Almost near the corner of the wall, she hears the voice again.

“...glad you could come! Now, I know we’re all busy people, so I’ll just begin, shall I?” the oily voice is saying.

“Maka -”

She shushes Tsubaki, then gestures for her to come closer, scooching backwards to make room for her.

“...come here because you are victims, victims of a vicious cycle of injustice. What do those that hold the power know of your suffering, or care? Or, perhaps,” and Maka imagines the owner of the voice sweeping their gaze to Black*Star and Soul, “you have never been at ease in your own skin. Perhaps you have always felt that you have been shunned, cast out, merely for being who you are.” Footsteps crunch, pacing back and forth. “The human society has abandoned you. But _I_ am here to tell you that there is still a place for you - a place where you will be respected...and a place where you may get vengeance on those that so cruelly mocked you or turned their backs on you.”

“Definitely a cult,” Maka whispers, and Tsubaki nods.

“How would you like to have strength and speed that no human could ever dream of?” the voice continues. “How would you like to see life through new senses, or to be unable to be struck down by sickness or injury? How would you like to be part of a family, one that will accept you and one so powerful that any who dare cross you will soon regret it?

“I’m here to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime.” A pause, and then, “I’m here to offer you the chance to become a beloved child of our great mother and queen, Arachne.”

The pittering of the rain mutes Maka’s gasp, and she meets Tsubaki’s dark eyes as they lean in closer. But any further conversation is lost amidst the sedated shuffling of feet, and she only hears a last jolly call of “This way, this way!” as whoever it is leads the others further into the building.

“Arachne?” Tsubaki whispers as they sneak back to their original position. “What does she have to do with this?”

“It makes some sense,” she admits. “You said she sees herself as a ‘mother’, and that these monsters have cults around her. I guess we’ve stumbled onto one of them.” She chews on a knuckle. “I hope Soul and Black*Star are okay. Fuck, they should have had us go instead of those two, we stand less of a chance of being recognized and both of them are high on Arachne’s wish list...” The bushes rustle as she rises. “Maybe we should go in now, just in case -”

“Black*Star said to wait for a signal if they need us,” Tsubaki says, tugging Maka back down. “Arachne wants both of them? I suppose I understand why Soul, being the brother of her current vessel...”

Maka shakes her head. “I think it’s more than that. I think...I think Arachne wants to make _Soul_ her vessel. With Medusa’s curse…with what he can do with his mind…”

Tsubaki nods. “Why Black*Star though? How does she even know about him?”

Maka hesitates. “ Black*Star, he’s...he’s not your average werewolf. Arachne knows that, and she’s convinced that she can um...bring out the beast in him, so to speak.” Her hand unconsciously drifts to rest on her forearm, rubbing at old scars, and she says quietly, “In a way, she already has.”

She can feel Tsubaki’s eyes on her, and braces herself for her questions, but before she can comment a muffled shot reports from somewhere within the restaurant. Maka’s already in a half-crouch, pistol in hand and peering around the side of the building.

A few minutes of tense silence go by, during which the drizzle lets up. Maka counts time by the number of raindrops she can hear splattering down from the roof, resolving to go in at a hundred.

She’s gotten to fifty when Tsubaki asks, “Do you think -”

There's a shattering, splintering crash, and light bursts out into the dark lot as Black*Star sails through the window. Tsubaki and Maka shield themselves instinctively with their arms as slivers of plyboard fly at them, and Black*Star skids across the wet asphalt, sliding to a stop about ten feet away.

"Black*Star!" Maka cries, but before she can race forward, someone jumps down in front of her, long pale hair swirling. A sword hangs loosely from the man's grip, blade dark with blood.

Black*Star struggles to his feet, cuts already healing. He faces the man, fangs bared, claws out, and Maka instinctively shrinks back. His eyes flicker to hers briefly, then snap back to the stranger as he takes a step forward.

"Hmm," the man says, and Maka recognizes him as the deep-voiced person she heard arguing earlier. "A werewolf. Interesting." Light glints off of a second blade he produces from beneath his coat.

Black*Star snarls and leaps forward, only to yelp in pain and stagger backwards as a gash carves its way along his arm, burning and hissing.

The man holds the sword out in front of him defensively. "Won't heal as quickly from that," he remarks, tone detached. Blood fizzles from between Black*Star's fingers as he clutches his wound.

Shots ring out behind her and Maka whirls around as the restaurant's doors are flung open.

"Maka!" Soul appears in the doorway, red faced and out of breath. "Where'd it go?!"

"He's right -" She's cut off by a bone-chilling howl of rage as Black*Star charges forward, snarling.

"The problem with werewolves," the man remarks calmly, sidestepping another wild swing, "is that they believe too much in their own superior strength and agility." He easily dodges Black*Star's attempt at ripping out his throat, and leaves a long slice against his back. "It makes them into nothing more than dumb animals."

There's a hand on her shoulder and Maka startles. "Not him!" Soul yells in her ear over the clashing of claws and blade. "Where's the shtri-"

"Maka!" Tsubaki points around the side, and she rushes over, gun at ready. A dark shadow peels away from building, making for the copse of woods bordering the lot. “Stop!” Maka yells, aiming.

The first shot goes intentionally wide, and Maka curses as the figure continues to run for the trees. “I said, _stop_!” she shouts, unwilling to fire at will at a potentially innocent victim.

She’s just about to dash after the person when something slams into her from behind. Her gun goes flying as she hits the ground, teeth clicking as her chin slams against the rough pavement. She twists, sweeping her feet to try and catch her assailant off guard, but cries out in pain as a heel smashes down onto her shin, then another on her hand, pinning her to the ground.

 _“No,_ ” the man above her says, and she stills as the tip of his sword brushes against her throat. She’s drawn to the single drop of water that treks down the edge of the blade, sliding closer, and closer -

“ _NO!”_ someone yells and Maka’s eyes dart to Soul as he takes a step towards her, face stricken with fear.

“Stop,” the man orders, and Soul halts, hands clenching uselessly at his sides. “That means you too, werewolf, or I’ll slice this woman’s throat faster than even you can move,” and somewhere behind him she hears Black*Star growl in frustration.

“Now, who are you?” he asks Maka. His eyes flicker to the gun she dropped, then back at her. “And what is a hunter doing with a werewolf?”

“We could ask you the same question,” Black*Star retorts. “Who the fuck are you, and why are you working with Arachne?”

The man’s response is lost to Maka as movement catches her eye - Soul’s hands are twitching, fingers jerking erratically. There’s an awful look burning in his eyes, vicious and gleeful, and his lips begin to peel back slowly, revealing jagged teeth as he grins...

“Soul, no!” she shouts, and he blinks, faltering. Above her, her assailant sways as Soul releases his hold, and the blade swings dangerously close to her neck -

A muttered word from behind her, and the sword quivers, then bends, blade melting like wax and cold metal dripping onto Maka’s shirt. The man drops the hilt, stepping back, and that’s enough of an opening for Black*Star to tackle him to the ground, claws digging into the front of his shirt.

Maka scrambles upwards but Tsubaki is already there, more words slipping from her lips, and Black*Star freezes in place, arms still raised to sink into the man’s chest. “That’s _enough_ ,” she snaps, and doesn’t flinch at Black*Star’s murderous glare. “What is going on? Who is this, and where is the -”

“You’re not done with them yet, Mifune?” a bored voice drawls from the doorway.

Startled, Tsubaki spins, and a crack of electricity flies from her fingertips towards the squat man. It strikes him square in the chest, yet he remains unmoved, merely brushes off his suit and top hat. “Two came in, yet I count four - and all still living,” he remarks, as if commenting on the weather. “I hired you to kill, not play.”

Mifune grunts, still paralyzed, and the newcomer sighs before snapping his fingers. Mifune gets to his feet, hand clutching his chest, and Black*Star makes as if to leap at him again, only to be sent flying at a single lazy wave of the shtriga’s hand.

“Really?” He shakes his head. “You couldn’t handle a werewolf and a witch? I’m beginning to think your reputation was greatly exaggerated.”

He shrugs off Soul and Maka’s bullets, as well as a gush of fire from Tsubaki. “Nice try, my dear,” he tells her, “but you’re nowhere near my level.” He narrows his eyes, and she stumbles, kneeling and retching.

“Now who’s toying with them, Mosquito?” Mifune mutters, looking uncomfortable as Tsubaki huddles on the ground, trying to spit out words through the blood that spills from her lips. “Either kill them or let them go.”

“I’m paying you to protect me, not to give me advice.” Mosquito adjusts his cuffs, smooths his mustache. “Though I suppose it would be poor form to harm Arachne’s precious future vessel, wouldn’t it? It’s nice to finally meet you, Soul.” He sketches a bow. “Though you won’t be Soul by the time Arachne gets her hands on you, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Maka takes a step forward, growling, “Shut -”

Excruciating pain twists in her stomach and it’s her turn to sink to her knees and cough and cough as thick smears of red drip from her teeth and splatter on the concrete. Dimly, she hears the slide of steel and a pained whimper from Black*Star as Mifune intercepts his returning blow.

“Anyway, we really must be going,” Mosquito says over their fight. “Mifune, finish up with the werewolf - you do have another bit of silver on you, don’t you? Good. Kill him. The Star Pack were all degenerates anyway, we don’t need another one of their kind around, no matter what my lady’s soft heart tells her. Take care of the other two once you’re done. Come along now, Soul, we’ll just be taking you back to your brother -”

“ _No,_ ” Soul says, and through a haze of blood Maka can see Soul take a threatening step forward, and this time she’s unable to say anything as his posture becomes loose and unfettered, as the madness stretches across his face and makes his irises into periods of red...

A record needle scratches at the inside of her skull, boring into her mind. She claps her hands over her ears, but the sound continues, skipping and skipping. Underneath it she can hear the hum of Soul’s voice, enchanting and mesmerizing as it wends its way between the scraping...no...not _between,_ but _with_. Something _clicks,_ the notes falling into place, and everything falls away because nothing _matters,_ it’s all just _noise_ , everything just a clanging, jarring mess of fury and sound -

Giggles bubble up from her stomach. Beside her, Tsubaki straightens, wiping blood off her lips, but she doesn’t seem as amused - her face is a blank mask of marble, cold and uncaring.

A roar of pure rage swells above the music, and Maka looks up to see Black*Star hunched over Mifune’s prone form, saliva dripping from his unhinged jaws. His pupils are lost in the whites of his eyes, and animalistic rage contorts his features as he howls again.

"Too _loud,_ " Tsubaki murmurs, and her nose just barely twitches in disgust. Power crackles in her hands as she strides over to him, and Black*Star’s head snaps around, fixing her with a predatory glare.

The shtriga still stands, seemingly unruffled, but Maka can see beads of sweat dipping down to dampen his collar, slicking the hairs of his mustache. She wants to rip it off. Splinters from the broken plyboard stab into her hands as she crawls towards him, and her mouth opens, tongue running along her teeth.

“Such power,” Mosquito marvels, sounding a little out of breath. “No wonder she wants you,” and Soul’s maniac grin inches higher.

Mosquito's shoes taste like dirt and blood. She wonders if he has toes beneath that shiny black leather, tiny baby toes - just like his tiny baby fingers, so small - they’d probably just pop right out of the sockets if she twisted hard enough, and she’s already reaching, no line between the thought and the movement -

“M-Maka.” Soul’s blinking at her, corners of his mouth melting downwards. “Stop.” He grabs at his head, and the music begins to tilt off course, wobbling and screeching. “Wait - no - fuck, _fuck_ -”

The needle leaves one last long gash against her skull, gouging open a rift long enough for chaos to escape, and sanity reaches to claim her once again. She drops Mosquito’s dirty hand, spitting out mud and scrubbing at her mouth.

Mosquito takes advantage of Soul’s sudden faltering, moving far quicker than expected towards where Black*Star and Tsubaki are sneering at each other. He snatches Mifune away from Black*Star’s clutches and springs away, lost to the night.

A stunned silence follows their departure. Maka squeezes her eyes shut, trying to dispel the fuzziness that clouds her thoughts. When she looks up again, Soul hasn't moved, and Tsubaki's hands are running through her hair, yanking on her ponytail. “What,” Tsubaki asks, shakily, “just happened?”

Black*Star’s staring at his claws, expression horrified. “I...I...” He begins to shake his head, slowly at first, then more forcefully as he backs away.

"Star," Maka says, rising on wobbly legs and toddling over to him. "Star -"

He snarls at her, and she stumbles back, scraping her palms on the concrete. There's no recognition in his slitted eyes, no emotion except hatred and fury. He whirls around and lopes away, disappearing into the surrounding woods.

A hand touches her arm, and Tsubaki helps her to her feet. "I'll start the car," she says quietly, taking the keys. Maka nods, though she's already gone, and turns.

Soul's still standing where she left him, staring at the building blankly. Maka slides her hand down his forearm, tracing her fingers over his whitened knuckles. “Soul,” she says gently. He doesn’t respond, but she can feel his fists relax ever so slightly. “Come on. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

He swallows, but nods, gripping her hand tightly as she brings him back to the car, away from the horrors of the night.

* * *

"I thought you said it was consecrated iron bullets!" Maka rants as they enter the hotel room.

"It is!" Tsubaki insists, following after her and wringing out her hair. "There must be something we're missing. He must have a weakness, otherwise he wouldn't have hired the bodyguard."

"Who was that, anyway?" Maka mutters as she begin to shuck her outer layers. "He knew werewolves and witches, but definitely didn't seem like either of those, or a skinwalker."

She waits for Soul to chime in with an observation, but nothing comes, and she turns her head to see him collapsed in a chair, listless and staring out the window. Water soaks the area beneath him, but he doesn't seem to notice, and the look in his eyes tells her he's a million miles away.

"Hey." She pokes at him. "Soul."

He blinks, deep red eyes focusing on her face. "Uh?"

"You're getting the floor wet," she points out. "Come on, we need to get you out of those wet clothes."

She helps him easing him out of the sleeves of his jacket, and unlaces his boots when he makes no move to do it himself. For once, Tsubaki doesn't comment or give them knowing looks, and instead excuses herself, closing the door behind her.

"Change into these," she tells Soul, handing him his pajamas and goes into the bathroom to do the same. She grabs a towel on her way out, and finds him standing in the middle of the room, still in his wet clothing, shivering and looking lost.

She doesn't say anything, just gently lifts his shirt up and over his head. He startles when she tugs at his belt, then shakes his head and removes it himself, heavy wet jeans flopping to the ground. He pulls on his pajamas as she undoes her pigtails and begins to dry out her hair, then sinks down onto the bed, leaning heavily against her and closing his eyes. She transfers the towel from her hair to his, and starts to rub the dampness out of the snow-white strands.

He's muttering something, and she pauses. "What?"

The tip of his cold nose buries into her neck, and she restrains herself from jumping away. "...Nothing."

"Hey," she says, and his cheek is icy wet in her hands as she turns his face her way. " _Hey_ ," she says again, more forcefully, and reluctantly, he focuses on her. "It's okay."

He snorts. " 'S _not_ okay, 'nd you know it. I…everyone - Black*Star almost - and you -"

"Are still alive." Her thumb traces down his cheek. "We're all still alive, all right? And we might not have been otherwise."

The bed sighs underneath them as he pulls away, glaring at the dresser. "Whatever happened to you not wanting me to use them?"

"I said emergencies only, Soul, not never," she says, crossing her arms. "And this counted as one - that shtriga, nothing we did to him stuck and that other one, whatever he was, he was going to kill Black*Star and then us after him." His frown remains unmoved, and she asks, "Who else was in there with you two? Did you see the skinwalker?"

"There was a girl that was hanging around with the bodyguard. Guess she could've been it, unless they kidnap people first and then turn them. But besides her, it was just me, Black*Star, a human victim who cleared out early, Mosquito and the bodyguard.” His fingers splay out on his thighs, tapping out rhythms, then says with certainty, “He's human. The bodyguard. I could tell when I… _pulled_. He didn't – didn’t feel like a monster." He frowns. "He talked like a hunter. Moved like one too."

She frowns. "I guess that would explain some of it." She casts a considering look to her phone. "Maybe Papa would know more..."

"You should call him," Soul says, following her gaze. He stands up, shuddering. "I'm going - I'm going to go help Tsubaki."

The glass is cold against her side as Maka curls up on the window seat, phone in hand. She scans the lot below as she waits for Papa to pick up, but there's only sedans and a van or two neatly parked in the spaces.

"Be safe, Star," she whispers, leaning her head against the glass, and the next words fall from her lips automatically, having heard them over and over in their childhood - "Don't hurt anyone."

"MAKA!" the phone crackles, and she winces, holding the speaker away from her as Papa begins to babble and coo.

"Papa," she says sternly, and Papa stops mid-'darling'. "I need your help."

"Of course," he says immediately, and Maka feels the smallest plume of guilt curl inside of her at his matter-of-fact tone - they both know she doesn't call him for any other reason.

She waves it away. "I'm on a case with Black*Star up in Oregon, hunting a shtriga - has Stein heard of them?...Yeah, I figured that'd who Black*Star asked first. It's consecrated iron that hurts them, supposedly, though it didn't seem to work - anyway. He was being guarded by a man who we think might be a hunter. Mifune?"

"Mifune?" her father repeats, surprised. "That's a name I haven't heard in a while."

"So you do know him. He's a hunter then?"

"Yes, though we never worked with him directly." She hears him scratch his head. "Supposed to be one of the best, actually."

"What happened to him?"

"Don't know. From what I heard, he just up and disappeared one day. I thought he'd been long dead and no one had bothered to report it, or maybe his body hadn't been recovered. But," he says, yawning, "that's all just second-hand. I can call around, see who worked with him last and if they know anything more."

"Okay," she replies, checking the time - midnight, so two in the morning for him. "Um...sorry for waking you."

He waves off her apology. "Don't worry about it, darling." He hesitates, then, "How is Soul doing?"

"Oh, um." Crooked grins and eyes devoid of any semblance of sanity flash through her mind, and she says, "F-fine. We're doing okay."

"Have you heard anything more from the list of people I gave you to contact?”

She closes her eyes, then opens them quickly, trying to banish the imprint of the email that’s burned into her mind. “No. Not – not from anyone,” she whispers.

Papa seems to sense her despair, because he makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and murmurs her name.

“I don’t – I don’t know what to do, Papa,” she confesses, willing her voice to steady. “I tried everyone on your list, and they all said the same thing, that there’s no way to break a deal if the demon won’t break it themselves…”

“Oh honey,” he murmurs, and the sheer amount of tenderness in his voice has her eyes prickling with tears, has her wishing for his protective embrace in a way that she hasn’t wanted for years and years. “Maka, sweetheart, we’ll find a way. I’ll dig down further into my network, have Stein pull any books that might be even remotely related to demons, okay?”

" 'Kay,” she sniffs, though she knows her papa well, that he’s as thorough as she is. If there was anything he could have even conceived as being useful to their situation, she would have been given it at the very beginning. “Thanks Papa.”

“Don’t give up, sweetheart. Though,” he says, and she can almost see him smiling, “I know my Maka doesn’t give up on anything.”

Yet buried underneath his pride is an almost sad note, and she knows he’s thinking of their relationship – of the grudge and resentment she clings to that causes her to shut him out. “But,” he continues, “I want you to focus on keeping yourself and your partner safe, okay?”

 **I** _will_ , she almost sneers, but it’s easy to stop herself from speaking the words aloud - even in her mind the words lack the heat of resentment, the sharp cruelty she’s become accustomed to speaking to her father with.

More gently, she says, “We’ll be fine, Papa.”

“I know you will. I’ll start asking about Mifune, and I’ll call you back when I have more information on him, okay darling?"

"Okay. Thank you." Then, awkwardly, "H-have a good night."

A pause, and Papa's voice is warm with gratitude as he says, "You too, sweetheart," before she hangs up.

She lingers by the window a little longer, until she gets sick of the hopeful swoop of her chest any time headlights come into view and the rapid plummet of her spirits when they continue on past the hotel. The carpet is rough under her feet as she pads over to the other room.

Both Tsubaki and Soul are absorbed in their work, Tsubaki typing on her laptop at the table and Soul on the bed frowning over one of the books Black*Star lent them. The TV mutters in the background, and Maka takes a seat in the armchair between the two, grabbing a text from the stack next to Soul.

"Anything?" he asks without looking up.

She relates what Papa told her and he grunts, flipping a page.

They all research quietly for about an hour, rustle of paper and tapping of keys broken only by the brumming of the heater and the occasional outburst from the TV. Maka's about fifty pages deep into a book on Albanian mythology when something on the screen catches her eye. She blinks, then immediately turns up the volume.

"- _body found near a church on South Humbolt Street_ ,” the TV announcer reports. _"The victim has not yet been identified but investigators believe it to be the work of a wild animal. However, witnesses say that they saw a strange man running away from the scene of the crime, and police are on the lookout for a man of unknown ethnicity, about 5'5" with dyed blue hair, last seen wearing a black jacket and..."_

The remote drops from Maka's hand as all three of them stare at the TV. "Black*Star," she breathes, "what have you done?"


	9. the guardian

It's close to three in the morning when Maka hears Black*Star’s telltale heavy gait coming down the hallway. The door yanks open, and he takes a step inside before stopping. "Oh," he says. "You're all still awake."

He walks over to the table, grabbing one of the waters on it, and begins to uncap it, but pauses. "Why're you all staring at me?" He takes a swig, and arrogance returns to his voice as he says, "I mean, I know I'm the best-looking guy in the room - no offense, Soul - but y'all are looking at me like I'm -"

"Black*Star, where have you been?" Maka demands, not fooled by his act of calm. There's the slightest tremor in his hands as he puts the water down, and he tucks them behind his head, squinting at her.

"Out," he says casually, and she recognizes that tone, the one he always used to lie to their parents about sneaking out of the house. "Thought I'd try to follow the shtriga after it got away -"

"Tell me the _truth_ , Black*Star." She crosses her arms.

He hesitates, and looks away. Stubbornness has settled into his features when he meets her gaze again. "I just went out for a walk -"

Maka says, "You have blood on your mouth."

He stops, touching his lip, and rubs it away. "Must've got it from that jackass bodyguard -"

"Stop _lying_!" she shouts. "You're all over the news, you idiot! I thought you said you had it under control -"

He pales. "The news? Someone saw -"

" _Yes_ , someone saw, Star! Christ, you left the body out in the middle of the fucking street, if you were going to go feral I thought you'd at least keep your wits -"

"Body? The street?" His brows draw together. "What?"

"The person you murdered!" she cries, stabbing a finger at the TV, where an eerily accurate sketch of his face is flashing across the screen.

"What?" he repeats, dumbly, staring at the headlines. "You think I did that?"

"Gee, I don't know, 'body ripped apart by animals' and 'short man with blue hair' sounds like anyone else you know?!" Maka clenches her hands into fists and begins to pace. "God dammit, Black*Star, you promised - you swore you never hunt a human and now this -"

"But I -" he begins, then stops, mouth working, before he starts again, "I didn't -"

"You promised _me!_ " she howls, hurt. "I didn't want to - I believed in you! I gave you the choice, and you - you -"

" 'Gave me a choice'?" he echoes, voice rising. " _Gave_ me a _choice_?! You gave me jack _shit_!" The water bottle crinkles in his grip, and he hurls it at the ground. "I fucking knew it. This is why you really came up here, isn't it? You've been waiting for me to slip up -"

"Guys," Soul tries, but they ignore him, tension crackling in the few feet between them. There's a terrible kind of anger in Black*Star's face, bitter and taunting, contempt and pain mixed into one.

"Going to finally find the balls to kill me then, Maka?" he challenges. "Going to do the job your mama always wanted you to do and finish me off?" He sneers at her, revealing long fangs. "What the fuck are you waiting for then?"

"You're dangerous," Maka says, voice shaking. "You - you ate a heart, and you nearly k-killed me, and then you murdered that man -"

"I didn't _FUCKING DO IT!_ " Black*Star roars, smashing his hand on the table. There's a loud _crack_ , and Maka shields herself as fragments of wood zing through the air. When she uncovers her eyes, Black*Star is standing there, chest heaving, eyes wild, breath ragged. "F-fuck you, Maka," he spits. "Either stab me or shoot me but don't be such a fucking coward that always needs someone else to do your dirty work."

He catches her punch, twists her arm behind her back. She throws her head backwards, smashing into the bottom of his chin, and attempts to elbow him in the stomach. A hiss of pain escapes her lips as he yanks her arm harder, and -

"Fucking _stop_!" Soul shouts, grabbing at her shoulder, and then Tsubaki is there, foreign words on her tongue - every muscle in her body stiffens and she falls backwards into Soul's arms, unable to move. Across from her, Black*Star is similarly incapacitated, though it doesn't stop him from glaring daggers at her.

"Neither of you are being reasonable right now," Tsubaki says firmly. "Black*Star needs medical attention -" and now that she looks, she can see the blood soaking the back of his shirt, dripping down his arm, and remembers the flash of the silver sword as it sliced against his skin, sizzling - "and all of us need sleep. Soul, would you get me some ice for his wounds?"

"Ah..." She can feel him shifting her as he looks for a place to put her down.

"No one is going to be killing or fighting anyone until we get to the bottom of this," Tsubaki says imperiously, "and if I have to keep you paralyzed for the duration of this case, I will."

She takes their silence as assent, though neither of them can speak with their jaw clenched, and Maka finds herself able to move again. She rejects Soul's steadying hand, and opens her mouth to argue, but falters at Tsu's hard look. She whirls around instead, flinging open the connecting door and it bangs angrily against the wall as she stalks away.

But she doesn't go far. She counts to ten, then sneaks back. The yellow light paints an unbroken stripe on the floor, and she hovers near it, keeping her breathing quiet and steady.

The hallway door in the other room clicks shut softly as Soul wanders out in search of ice, and she can hear Tsubaki rustling around for medical supplies. Shadows pass by as they relocate to the bathroom directly across from Maka's spot, and soon after, it's quiet, with no sound save for Black*Star's heavy breathing and the scrape of the hotel's rough hand towel over his skin.

"You're a good patient," Tsubaki notes.

Black*Star grunts, then says, with forced confidence. "The best. Like I am at everything."

"It doesn't hurt?"

"No."

"Good," she says, "because I need to disinfect this one now."

Black*Star, to his credit, does little more than hiss. "...You have some neat tricks," he says eventually. "With the magic stuff."

"It comes in handy, every once in a while," she agrees, and the sound of the towel being dipped into water echoes off the tiles. "Especially when trying to calm two stubborn hunters who can't communicate with each other."

He snorts. "Seemed pretty clear to me," he mutters.

"...You know," she says softly, "Maka's just scared. There's been a lot going on with Soul, and -"

"I don't want to talk about it," Black*Star says, voice hard.

"Okay," she says easily, and there's a snip of scissors.

"...How are you?" he asks. "The shtriga or the bodyguard...they get you?"

"Just a hex," she replies. "I'm fine."

"I'd say sorry for Maka dragging you all the way out here," he says suddenly. "But you wouldn't want to miss the chance to meet someone as awesome as me."

"No," Tsubaki says, sincere. "I wouldn't."

From the crack in the door, Maka sees Black*Star shift, looking uneasy.

"I'm a werewolf, you know."

"We've established," Tsubaki replies, sounding amused. "I think this one needs stitches. Hold still."

"...They said I killed someone. Saw me do it, on TV. You think so too, don't you? That I lost control, ate his heart and ran away."

"I think," Tsubaki says, choosing each word carefully, "that you don't seem like the type of person to lie. So no. I don't."

He looks like he doesn't quite know how to respond to that, staring at her with disbelief. Finally, he sighs, and rests his head against the tiles. "Well," he says scornfully, "you're an idiot."

"Did you do it then?"

" _No_." He scowls. "But - but I could have." His hands tighten into fists on his thighs. "I'm so hungry," he whispers. "All the time. Even now, I can hear your heart, beating away in your chest, and it would be so...so easy -"

"Not as easy as you think," she says calmly, unraveling gauze.

He eyes her, appraising. "Maybe not," he concedes. "But I'm still dangerous. I'm still a werewolf. Doesn't that bother you?"

Tsubaki sets her instruments down on the bathroom sink. She sits up and looks him dead in the eye. "Does it bother you that I'm a witch?"

There's a short period of silence, broken only when Tsubaki looks away, settling her gaze on the blood tinted basin. "You're a hunter," she says. "So you know what witches can do. And my hands are no cleaner than yours." She resumes her ministrations. "We're more than what people expect of us, Black*Star. If you say you didn't kill that man, then we need to figure out who -"

She's interrupted by the gentle sound of gongs and chimes, and she sighs. "I'm sorry, would you please excuse me for a minute?"

Even from her current spying place six feet away, Maka can hear the indignant squawking as she picks up the phone. "Hello - hello Kim. Oregon. I decided to take a small vaca - she did? Did she mix up lavender and wolfsbane again?...I'm sorry, but I can't - what about the Mabaa witches?" She shifts the phone to the other ear. "I understand, Kim," she says wearily, "but I'm helping someone else right now - yes, it's Soul and Maka, they needed my - yes I know, but I can't just -"

Black*Star plucks the phone from her hand. "Hey, asshole," he barks. "Clean up your own damn mess, Tsu isn't your fucking babysitter. She told you she's busy, so step off and leave her alone."

He hangs up, cutting off the shriek of indignation, and tosses the phone in Tsubaki's lap.

"...That was unkind," she says, looking down.

" 'Unkind'? I don't even know who that was or what they wanted but the way they were talking to you was rude as fuck." He shrugs. "People like that, you need to grind their noses in boundaries before they obey them."

"Kim's not that bad." The smell of alcohol fills the area, and he grunts as she dabs some onto the cut on his forearm. "I, um, left my coven recently, and the adjustment period has...been difficult."

"So that gives them the right to demand you drop everything to help them?"

She pauses, needle in hand. "I..."

There's a soft beeping from the door, and Maka takes three silent steps backwards and flings herself on the bed as it opens. Soul eyes her as he walks past.

"Sorry about the wait," Soul apologizes as he enters the other room. "Machine was broken on this floor, had to go to the next..."

He trails off, then, "What the - Maka. Maka!"

"What," she grumbles.

"Stop sulking and get over here," Soul snaps, and she obeys, trudging through the adjoining door to where he's standing. She pointedly turns her back on Black*Star and follows Soul's gaze to the TV.

She blinks, confused, as a mirror image stares back at her from the confines of the screen. Below her serious-looking portrait scrolls the words: _Shoplifter holds up Shell with fake gun on Washington Street._

"What..." Maka blinks, as if it'd wipe away her image from the TV.

"Wow, didn't know you turned to the life of crime, Maka," comes Black*Star's smug voice behind her. "Looks like we're gonna have to turn you into the police now."

"That's not..." She swallows. "That's not me -"

"I don't know, Maka, you know anyone else that's short and still wears the same pigtails she wore when she was five?" and she does her best not to wince at her own accusations being thrown back at her. Black*Star's tone is anything but teasing as he says, "Guess we gotta lock you up -"

"Shut up you two," Soul says irritably. "Look." He gestures to the video being played on the TV.

A grainy monochrome figure with familiar pigtails dashes into the store. The clerk behind the counter immediately puts his hands up as not-Maka points a gun-shaped object at him. There's a moment of hesitance before she appears to deliberately lower the weapon in her hand. She turns, making the briefest eye contact with the camera -

"There," Soul announces. "Her eyes." Sure enough, they flare a brilliant, unnatural white before she turns her back and continues down the row of snacks.

"Well I'll be," Black*Star says, sounding not at all surprised. "A shapeshifter."

Soul sighs heavily, sitting down on the bed. "As if we didn't have enough problems."

"What did we do to get a shapeshifter on our case?" Maka asks, still watching her double in the screen.

"Fucked if I know," Black*Star plops down on the chair next to the broken table. "Looks like this one was either stupid or sloppy though - getting caught by the police, really?"

"Um." Tsubaki gives an apologetic smile. "Do you mind...?"

"Just like it says on the box," Black*Star says, kicking up the front legs of the chair and balancing on the back. "Can turn into anyone - DNA, fingerprints, smell, it all checks out. Leaves behind a discarded skin when they shift though, pretty gross."

Soul props his chin in his hand, adding, "Weak to silver. And they have a retinal flare that cameras and film will pick up."

"It didn't just randomly pick us out of a crowd," Maka says suddenly. "It knew Black*Star was a werewolf and was trying to frame him. And then it did _this_ -" she indicates the TV - "so it knows that we're working together. Which means it saw us tonight, with Mifune and Mosquito."

"Working for Arachne, then? Why not just come at us directly?" Soul scratches the back of his neck. "Getting local forces involved doesn't really sound like their MO."

"Don't know." Black*Star cracks his knuckles. "But I know just how to find out."

* * *

"Why do I have to stay behind _again_?" Maka whines. "This isn't fair. I stayed behind last time!"

"Gee, Maka, I wonder," Soul says, shrugging into his suit jacket. "It's not like the entire police force is expecting you to be in the cell where they have you."

She puffs out her cheeks. "Black*Star -"

"Is _also_ staying behind for the same reason." He stifles a yawn, loops a tie around his neck. "And I swear to god, you both had better behave when while we're gone or you're sleeping in the car tonight. One more noise complaint and we're all out on our asses."

Sleep-deprived fingers fumble with his tie, producing a very messy Windsor knot. The mirror reveals a face that looks every bit as tired as he feels and he runs a morose hand through his messy locks. He really should just dye it, but he knows that its color is probably the least offensive of his freaky features.

Slim fingers readjust his tie, and Maka's body brushes against his as she reaches up to comb his hair to the side. He swallows, forcing himself to calm as she fusses over his suit. A small tug at his sleeves, a quick smoothing of his collar, and she nods, satisfied, but doesn't step away.

"Soul…" she sighs, fingers lingering on his lapel. "Be careful."

"I always am, aren't I?" and he's proud of how steady his voice is. "Besides, it's just a shapeshifter. We've taken on worse, remember?"

She frowns. "I just…I don't like it. The shtriga - a former hunter - and now a shapeshifter? I feel like there's more going on than we realize, and…"

"Hey." His hand drifts towards her cheek, but uncertainty redirects it to her shoulder, safe and solid beneath him. "Let me do the worrying, okay?" He tries a smile, and is rewarded with a tiny answering one that spreads across her face. "I'm better at it. You're much more suited for running in and being your usual reckless self."

She chuckles. "Where would I be without you," she says fondly, and her hands have no such qualms about propriety - her palm cups his face, cool against his cheek, and she looks at him like…like…

A knock at the door has them both startling, Maka dropping her hand and Soul slipping his away from where it had been inching towards her neck. "Soul? Maka?" Tsubaki asks tentatively from the other side. "May I come in?"

Maka's already stepped back, avoiding his eyes, and Soul clears his throat, willing the heat to dissipate from his skin. "Y-yeah, go ahead."

The sweet smell of syrup and baked goods wafts into the room as Tsubaki pushes open the door. "I brought you some breakfast, Maka," she says, placing it on the table. "I'm just going to make up a plate for Black*Star and we should be ready to leave."

"Good idea," Soul responds. Maka's already digging into her pancakes, and he knows better than to get between her and free food. He carefully files away her earnest, tender look for later analysis as he follows Tsubaki back into the other room.

Black*Star is situated on one of the beds, staring up at the ceiling as he lifts a pair of oversized dumbbells up and down. "Hey," Soul says, settling on the other bed as Tsubaki scurries back into the hall.

Black*Star halts mid-swing. "Ah, it's the lucky bastard himself," he says, giving Soul a friendly grin and placing his weights to the side. "Not that I can blame the shapeshifter for wanting to be me, but I don't see why it's gotta mean I stay here -"

"You and Maka, I swear," Soul says, shaking his head. "What part of 'keep a low profile' is failing to get through to you two? Both of you are wanted suspects -"

He waves off the rest of Soul's sentence. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Never was much into laying low, but been getting enough practice in lately that you don't have to worry 'bout me."

"We won't be long," Soul assures him. "And, um..." He hesitates, trying to iron out a wrinkle in his slacks with his fingers.

"What?"

"Wanted to say, uh, sorry." The cloth springs back and he presses down harder. "For, um, you know..."

"Don't sweat it." Black*Star settles back against the pillows, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. "Didn't know there was a shapeshifter running around, and I'm a big enough man to admit that I wasn't my normal chill self after the fight last night. Easy mistake, for you." His mouth twists into a bitter, unhappy frown. "Maka should have known better," he mutters.

"Not just that," Soul says. "It - it was my fault, that you kinda...spiraled out of control, last night. That we all did." He shudders, remembering the feeling of unhinged glee, the beautiful and cruel siren song of madness that flowed through his body. "I have a, um, curse on me that can affect others around me when I use it, and I -"

"Soul."

He looks up from his hands. Black*Star cracks an eye open and peers at him, expression unreadable. "It's not your fault," he says, before closing them again and facing the ceiling.

"Uh, yeah, it was - look, these eyes and teeth aren't just for show -"

"And neither are mine." He sits up. "Look, okay, yeah, I felt something, or more like heard - some shitty piece of music that just kept going _on and on_ and wouldn't fucking shut up. And maybe it annoyed me, maybe it got me so _irritated_ that I just wanted to -" He breaks off, hands kneading into the covers. "Doesn't matter," he says finally. "Whatever you did didn't _make_ me do anything that I wasn't already thinking about doing. It just made it so I didn't care about what happened afterwards."

"But -"

"My actions are my own," Black*Star says, with rote familiarity. "Maybe you made it easier to do them, but you didn't force me to - to nearly rip out that man's throat, okay?"

"...All right," Soul relents.

Black*Star must realize he's not convinced, though, because he gives him a friendly punch to the arm. "Don't think about it too much. Just focus on ganking that shapeshifter for me, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay," he says, mouth curling into a half-smile as he rubs his arm.

Black*Star perks up. "Food time," he says, jumping off the bed and going over to the door and letting Tsubaki, still coming down the hallway, in. "Mmm, bacon _and_ sausage? You are a godsend."

"I wasn't sure what to get you," she says, looking around for a place to put the food down. "I read that werewolves need to eat hearts for sustenance, but..."

"Don't mean that normal food doesn't taste good though," Black*Star replies, grabbing a sausage patty and wolfing it down.

"Did you need us to pick up some on our way back? There might be a butcher shop around..."

Black*Star freezes, nearly choking on a piece of bacon. He carefully swallows the rest before saying, "Uh, no, no I should be good. Had one before I came back."

She frowns. "If you're sure..."

"Yep! Anyway, we're all set here, you should get going before that shapeshifter breaks out, right?" He ushers them to the door. "Don't worry, me and Maks will keep an eye on the place. All right, bye!"

The lock clicks behind them, and Tsubaki and Soul look at each other. "That was weird," Soul says.

"Maybe he's just shy about it," she suggests.

"Black*Star? Shy?" He huffs a laugh. "I don't think he could be shy if his life depended on it."

A faint smile graces her lips. "He does seem fairly straight-forward."

"Straight-forward is an understatement. I thought Maka was frank, but Black*Star makes her look like she has the prowess of a diplomat in comparison."

"It must be nice though," she says thoughtfully. "To be that bold and confident in who you are and the decisions you make." She shakes her head before he has the chance to respond. "Anyway, he has a point. Let's get going before we're next on the front of the newspapers."

* * *

"Agent Davis," Soul says, handing over his ID and doing as best he can to suppress a yawn. "And this is my associate, Agent James."

The police office lingers over their photos, long enough to make Tsubaki begin playing with her hair. Soul discretely nudges her, and she drops her hands.

"Why're the FBI interested in this girl again?" he asks, glancing between then suspiciously. His eyes flicker to Soul’s hair, linger on his eyes, and Soul resists the urge to shrink away.

"We have reason to suspect that she may be more dangerous than she appears," Soul replies smoothly as he raises a cup of coffee to his lips to hide his teeth. "There has been a series of robberies along the coast, and she may be the culprit that we've been looking for."

The man looks unconvinced, but hands them back their badges. "Follow me."

They pick their way past mostly deserted cubicles and offices. Soul does his best not to stumble and wishes that he’d guzzled more coffee on the drive. "Hasn't said anything since we picked her up," their escort says, opening a door. "Mousy thing, but fierce - kept banging on the bars 'til we told her that we'd handcuff her if she didn't stop."

"Has anyone interrogated her yet?"

"Nah, not yet, thought we'd let her stew in the cell for a while, let the reality of her being in jail sink in. She's got no ID on her, but she looks pretty young, maybe early twenties or so."

He brings them to the viewing area outside the single interrogation room. Soul waits near the one-way window, peering in at the dingy room with blurry eyes as the officer goes to fetch the prisoner.

He hears her before he sees her, yelling loudly as they bring her down the hallway. The sound helps wake him up, and he watches with clearer vision as she's shoved inside the room, pigtails whirling wildly and feet flailing. The officer handcuffs her to the chair, then leaves.

"Make sure no one else watches this, or hears this," Soul says quietly to Tsubaki. She nods, already well versed in how this is going to go, and the sound of her muttered spellwork cuts off as he closes the door behind him.

The shapeshifter looks up at his entrance, face set in a glare that would cow even the most hardened detective, but her eyes widen as she takes in his appearance and she quickly redirects her gaze to the scratched up table in front of her. She doesn't move as he sits down opposite of her, schooling his features. _It's not Maka_ , he tells himself, repeating it over and over as he takes in her perfect likeness. _Those aren't her eyes, aren't her freckles or chin. She didn't get that scar on her forehead from banging her head too hard on the trunk of the jeep, that slash across her collarbone isn't from a ghoul..._

He clears his throat. "So," he begins. "What's your name?"

No response. The shapeshifter fidgets, handcuffs jingling.

"Because I can tell you what your name is. Or at least, the name of the woman you're pretending to be."

"I -" She slouches further in the chair. "I'm not pretending to be anyone." It's Maka's voice all right, but there's something off about the way the shapeshifter forms her vowels and abbreviates her consonants that has Soul relaxing, illusion broken.

"Really?" he drawls. "That's interesting. Because last time I checked, the person whose skin you're walking around in didn't have a twin." He leans back. "You may be able to fool the police force here, but not me. I know what you are."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says forcefully.

"So who was going to be next?" he asks. "Me, or the dark-haired woman? And were you going to pin another petty crime on one of us, or were you going to get more serious like you did with our werewolf friend and frame him for murder after you killed a human -"

"I didn't kill him!" she shouts. "He was already dead and I -" She stops, handcuffs jerking to stop her hands from covering her mouth.

"Huh," Soul says. "Interesting. Not a killer then." He rests his arms on the table, cocking his head to the side. "So why come after us? You know who we are, right? What we do?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," the shapeshifter repeats, hunching her shoulders. " 'M just a normal person -"

"Cut the crap before I start taking out the silver," he orders, but takes no pleasure in how she winces and shrinks into herself.

"...You're a hunter," she says reluctantly, " 'Nd you kill people like me."

"Sometimes," he replies. "Not always. Not if they don't hurt others."

She sends him a scathing look. "Yeah right," she says, voice dripping with scorn. "Hunters don't care 'bout anything that isn't a human. Don't matter if it don't do nothing to nobody, the fact that we're not the _same_ means we deserve a bullet to the forehead -"

"Yet you know that one of us is a werewolf," Soul points out. "And another one is a witch. So how does that fit into your claim?"

His words make her pause mid-protest, and for a minute she looks at a loss before settling back into her chair, arms crossed.

"Not everyone is like that, I'll give you that," he admits, thinking of Patty's words - _not all hunters are human_ \- "but we understand not every monster is a bloodthirsty murderer."

She doesn't respond, just sinks further into the chair.

"So. What's your name?".

"...Angela."

"Angela. I'm Soul. The werewolf you tried to frame is Black*Star, the witch with us is Tsubaki, and you're currently wearing the face of my partner, Maka." He tilts his head. "You can shift back, if you want. Tsubaki is covering the cameras and windows."

She looks at him for a minute, then features begin to slide down her face as her skin starts to slough off. Soul looks away, silently thanking his parents for his ability to still be able to adopt the blank polite mask that had been drilled into his features since he was a child.

When he turns back, the shapeshifter is gone.

The chair clatters to the ground as he shoots up, leaning over the table to find nothing but gross-looking scraps of slimy skin and a pair of slipped handcuffs -

Something yanks at his ankles, pulling his feet out from beneath him, and he falls backwards, landing hard on his butt. The shapeshifter flies out from underneath the table, making for the door, but he lunges, grabbing her leg. She tries to yank away, but even with her shapeshifter strength she’s no match for Soul.

In an instant, she turns, and he lets go to instinctively raise his arms as small fists assault him. He winces at the high-pitched voice shrieking in his ear. Blindly, he reaches out again, catching a wrist, and nails claw at him as he rolls to the side, standing up and holding her at arm's length.

A girl who looks no older than ten struggles in his grasp, hissing and spitting like a wildcat as she twists. A mess of short brown hair flies around her face, and her eyes are the color of thunderstorms, deep gray and flashing promises of violent retaliation at him as she tries to free herself.

"You're just a kid," he says, stunned- then looks closer. "Wait, I remember you - you were at the meeting last night."

"I'm _thirteen,_ " she spits. "Let me go!" She aims a kick at his shins and misses.

"You're part of their group, aren't you? The shtriga, the bodyguard..." Pieces begin to fall into place as Soul easily dodges her attempt to knee him in the groin. "You know where they are - you could take us to them -"

"No!" she yells, ceasing her struggle and looking terrified. "I'll - I'll never tell!"

"Maybe not," Soul says slowly, "but they might come for you." At this, she doesn't say anything, just glares at him. "Either way, you can't stay here. Jail's no place for a child -"

"I'm _not_ a child!"

"Soul." Tsubaki pokes her head in through the door, face pale and exhausted. "We need to go. I can't keep the spell up for much longer."

Soul looks at her, then looks at the angry kid in his hand. "Do you have enough in you for one more spell? One that can get us out of here without anyone seeing?"

She frowns. "I think so. Why?"

He jerks his chin towards Angela. "She's coming with us."

* * *

Maka's already sitting up in bed with a knife in hand before she knows what's awakened her, still dreaming of hissing and slithering, of sharp teeth and slavering jaws.

_Thump_ comes the sound again, and she sighs, relaxing her position. She places her knife on the nightstand, shaking cobwebs from her mind as she sinks back into the pillows.

_Thump_. She grits her teeth. She will not retaliate. She will be mature, and will not engage -

_Thump_ , and _paft_ goes her pillow as she hurls it at the wall.

A pause, then another, louder thump has her ripping the covers off and storming into the room next door. She comes to a stop in front of Black*Star just as he catches the ball again. He looks at her with absolute calm, lounging on the bed with his head propped up by his hand. "What do you think you're doing?" she demands. "Soul _said_ if we get another noise complaint we're going to get kicked out!"

Black*Star gives a lazy shrug, which only serves to make her angrier, as they both know was his intent. "I was bored," he says, and goes to throw the ball again.

She snatches it out of the air before it can hit the wall. "Tsubaki's already going to have to pay for damages to the room since you broke the table. Now you're going to evict us all because you're _bored_?"

"I can't be held responsible for my actions," he says, matter of fact. "After all, I've got that werewolf blood in me. Any moment I'll just snap and murder everyone 'cause that's how we werewolves are, can't trust us one bit -"

"Just shut up," she snaps, slamming the ball back into the bag. "I didn't know -"

"So?!" he yells suddenly, bolting upwards off the bed. "Twenty-two fucking years we've known each other and you just - you didn't even think twice! You trusted some bullshit on TV, accused me of doing something you _know_ I would rather _die_ than let happen, that I do _everything_ to stop -"

"You were _lying_ to me!" she shouts back. "And don't even pretend you weren't, I know you were! Maybe if you hadn't acted so damn cagey when you came in -"

"You should have trusted me!" His voice reverberates throughout the room, and Maka winces. "And if you weren't going to trust me then you should have just let me bite the fucking bullet back in Indiana!" His eyes narrow at her, and because he's always known how to hurt her most, he says, "But you haven't changed from the blubbering eight-year-old who couldn't stab a vetala -"

This time he's not quick enough to get out of the way, and she tackles him, fists flying. They wrestle on the bed, knees smashing into ribs, hands yanking at hair, and she _hates_ , _hates_ that he's stronger than she is, hates that he's always had to be careful with her, hates that she didn't trust him, _hates hates hates_ everything.

She sees stars when his elbow jabs her in the eye, and he grunts as she lands a blow on his jaw. She throws herself into the fight, feeling him respond in kind, kicking and punching and bruising the hell out of each other because it's always been easier for them to talk with their fists than with their mouths.

They break apart, chests heaving. Maka's ribs ache, and she can feel her eye swelling - she'll have an impressive shiner soon. Across from her, Black*Star cracks his jaw back into place, rubbing at it. The various cuts and bruises she landed on him are already halfway towards fading away.

She sighs, and flops back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and a minute later, he does the same.

"You bit me," he says finally. "Not fair. Biting should be off-limits for both of us."

"You gave me a black eye, jackass," she responds. "Soul's going to be so pissed when he sees."

"You deserved it."

"...Yeah. I did." She blows out a breath. "I'm sorry, Black*Star," she says quietly. "I should've known, shouldn't have doubted -"

"Save it," he says, and panic hollows out a hole in her stomach until he goes on to say, "Never needed to talk about it before, don't need to now. We beat the shit out of each other and that's enough for me. We're square."

Her voice comes out small and vulnerable. "You sure?"

" 'Course I'm sure," he scoffs. "I said it, didn't I?"

A quiet settles between them, one that feels less suffocating than before. Maka connects cracks in the ceiling to form meaningless constellations, turning over questions in her mind. "What did you actually do though, before you came back?"

His breath catches, and he's silent for a long moment. "...I went to the woods. After the whole...thing, with the shtriga and Soul and the bodyguard, it was too much to be around people, and I needed..." He swallows. "I needed to hunt. _Animals_ ," he adds quickly, "just like, deer and rabbits and shit. That's all." The tufted spikes of his hair poke against her scalp as he shifts uncomfortably. "It's easier," he mutters, "can't think about anything else when I'm running something down and it…" his voice drops, petering out, "tastes better, when it's fresh…"

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "You're right, Black*Star, you've always been right, I just - I can't..." She presses her sleeve into her face briefly, savoring the roughness of the woven cloth, before continuing. "I keep thinking, about that day. When we found the vetala. How I couldn't - I couldn't move, I couldn't think, I couldn't do anything, and you -"

A deep, shuddering inhale. "You had to take the silver knife, the one Mama told me was for you, and you had to be the one to stab it and kill it. And you cut your hand so bad and when we got back you were the one who got in trouble because you shifted, even though I was the one who made you shift, even though I was the one who made us go after it - I was the one who couldn't kill it because I'm not, I can't -"

"Stop it, Maka," he interrupts tightly. "You told them all that, and they didn't believe you then, and they wouldn't believe you now. It's not your fault -"

"But it is!" she cries, and the bed bounces as she slams her fist into the covers. "I was too afraid, and no one ever treated you the same afterwards -"

"They never treated me the same before, it was just more obvious -"

"- and then I fucked up again, and it was Soul who paid for it that time, and I failed you at the carnival and I couldn’t even help afterwards and then with the djinn -"

"Maka, shut _up_." Black*Star pulls on her pigtail, hard enough to make her wince in pain and instinctively lash out. "I don't even know half of what you're saying anymore, but what's done is done. You can't keep thinking about all the shit that happened in the past or you'll go crazy. None of that matters now, okay?"

"I just." She closes her eyes. "I just want to stop being the reason why everyone I love gets hurt, or - or worse."

"Okay, cut the emo crap." She's forced to look back at him as he flips onto his stomach and fixes her with his _this is how it's going to be_ stare. "First of all, you're not god. People are going to get hurt and suffer and die, no matter what you do. Second of all, the world doesn't revolve around you. Everyone's gonna make their own choices, and it's not your fault when they end up paying for them." He looks away, and his voice is distant when he says, "Sometimes, people are just going to be or think a certain way, and there's nothing you can do or say to change it."

"...Yeah," she says quietly, thinking of the way he'd stare at his shoes and keep his hands behind his back whenever Mama was around, trying to compress his loud presence into something more acceptable - remembering how Mama would watch him like a hawk whenever they played hunters and vampires in his backyard, how polite and cold her words were on the rare times she spoke to him.

"It's just the way it is." He shrugs. "No sense in thinking about what you could have done differently, or how you might've been able to change something. Doesn't matter at that point."

A faint ringing in the other room prevents him from commenting further, and they both look at each other before she slips off the bed and pads into the other room, Black*Star trailing behind.

Her cellphone vibrates on the nightstand, and she picks it up with a heavy sigh. "Hi Papa."

"Maka, my darling daughter! I missed hearing your sweet voice!"

"We just talked the other day, Papa."

"What's up, Spirit!" Black*Star chirps from behind her, and she rolls her eyes.

"Is that Black*Star? Tell him hello, and to stop being a punk and call Sid and Nygus, they've been worried about him."

She relays this back to him, and Black*Star scowls, kicking at the carpet.

"Anyway, angel, I was able to get in contact with a hunter who worked last with Mifune, and, well…"

"What is it?" she asks, putting him on speakerphone.

"Maybe ten years ago, he took a case to clear out a couple of shapeshifters. They'd been killing couples and taking their place before clearing them out of their valuables and moving on. Anyway. Turns out there was more than just two of them; they found a third after the others were dead. A child."

"A kid shapeshifter?"

"Yes. Couldn't have been more than three or four years old, it sounds like. The group Mifune had been working with wanted to put it down. Mifune refused. Killed a couple of his partners that disagreed, grabbed the girl, and disappeared. That was the last time anyone saw him."

"The girl," Black*Star says suddenly. "There was a girl with them, at the meeting place - looked like she was middle school aged, maybe. Could have been her."

Maka bites at a knuckle. "She must have seen us, when we were fighting. Maybe she's also working with Mosquito, trying to draw us out." She begins to nod rapidly. "She might be our ticket to finding and killing the shtriga. Thanks, Papa," she says into the phone. "I think this'll really help."

"Anytime, darling daughter." She can hear the worry in his voice when he says, "Be careful, Maka."

"I will be, Papa," she tells him, and hangs up.

Black*Star snorts. "So we've got another hunter who had some sort of crisis of conscience," he says sourly. "Betting he's starting to regret not just leaving her."

"Mmm," Maka replies absently, mind already taking the information Papa gave her and stitching pieces together for a semblance of a plan -

The hotel door whirrs and clicks, and Tsubaki stumbles into the room. She looks utterly exhausted, a sallow color tinting her pale skin and entire body drooping with fatigue, and Black*Star immediately bounds over to steady her as she sways.

The door bumps open as Soul comes in, carrying something bundled in blankets in his arms. "We're ba -" he begins to say, before his eyes immediately zero in on Maka's black eye. "What happened."

"I...ran into the corner of the dresser." Maka gives him a winning smile, which does nothing to relieve the exasperated look he gives her.

She's fully prepared for another lecture, but he surprises her by sighing instead. "Whatever, we have bigger things to deal with now." He gently places his burden down on the bed, and pulls away one of the layers to reveal a sleeping girl.

"That's her," Black*Star says, frowning as he holds Tsubaki up. "From the restaurant."

"Her name's Angela," Soul replies, collapsing an armchair. "The shapeshifter that's been running around with your face, Maka. Picked her up from the station." He rolls his shoulders back. “She's a lot heavier than she looks. Won't wake up for another hour or so, thankfully. She's connected somehow with the shtriga and the bodyguard -"

"Yeah, and we know how," Maka says. "Papa just called - turns out the girl is Mifune's charge."

Soul runs a hand down his face. "I guess that makes sense. She seems somewhat innocent, at least – said that she didn’t kill that victim, just stole his body. Probably one of the cult’s rejects, if it looked like a wild animal got to it.” He rubs at his eyes. “So what are we going to do with -" he yawns, exposing jagged teeth - "her?"

" _You_ and Tsubaki are going to get some sleep," she says sternly, crossing over to him. "Black*Star and I will take care of this."

Soul's already shaking his head. "You're wanted, Maka, and so is Black*Star, you shouldn't -"

"Star and I can take care of ourselves." She indicates the door with her head, and Black*Star takes the hint, scooping up Angela and dragging an already half-asleep Tsubaki to the other room. "Come on, get out of that monkey suit and lay down on the bed. You haven't slept since yesterday afternoon."

The fact that he isn't arguing with her or looking like he's going to be glaring a hole in the door until she walks back through it is what tells her more than anything that he's far too exhausted to be much use for anything. She goes around shutting the drapes and closing the door, politely averting her eyes as he strips down to boxers.

"What're you gonna do?" he asks, and the sheets rustle as he settles in the bed.

"The shifter's only going to be out for an hour, you said - we'll wait for her to wake, maybe keep her in the car so we can make sure she doesn't escape, and -" She pauses, noting his closed eyes and even breathing, and shakes her head with a fond smile before pulling the comforter over his shoulder.

She turns to leave, but his hand catches her arm and tugs - she follows his pull until she's on her knees at eye-level with him. His fingers trace her cheek, curving around the edges of her shiner. "Need ice," he rasps, scrutinizing her through nearly closed eyes. "Still some in the other room -"

"I'll ice it down," she assures him. "You just get some sleep, okay?"

He hums an agreement, eyes fluttering shut again, and his hand begins to slip down her face. She catches it, running a thumb across his knuckles before guiding it back to the bed; he tucks it close to him, already asleep.

She watches him for perhaps a minute more, as the lines of his face soften and relax. "I'll be careful," she promises him softly, and closes the door.

* * *

One thing Maka learns very quickly about Angela: she's _loud_.

It's about an hour after they sneak out of the hotel, Maka with her hood up and head down and Black*Star’s hair hidden beneath a beanie, that the girl wakes up. Her first instinct is to scream and lash out with a foot, nearly breaking Maka's wrist and making her swerve into a mercifully empty oncoming lane. Luckily, it doesn't take Black*Star long to restrain her, bundling her up in the blankets and sitting on her in the backseat of the jeep. The next seven minutes or so after that are filled with some truly atrocious language as she hurls insults at them, their parentage, their personal attributes and their general state of existence.

"Christ, kid," Black*Star says finally when she pauses for a breath, "you learn all that from Mifune?"

"Why d’ _you_ care," she sneers, trying vainly to kick him in the groin. "You were gonna kill him!"

" _He_ was going to kill _me_ , if you didn't notice."

" 'Cause you attacked Mosquito! 'Nd then _you_ ," she glares at Maka, "were gonna shoot me -"

"I wasn't going to shoot you," Maka says, scowling at the road. "Besides, even if I did, they were iron bullets, you wouldn't have gotten hurt -"

"Then," Angela goes on, ignoring her, "then I get kidnapped by the crazy one and the scary one -"

"Kidnapped - kid, they rescued you," Black*Star says. "Or did you want to go to prison?"

"I would've escaped," she declares. "Would've just slipped outta the cuffs and changed into a guard or somethin' and gone home -"

"So why didn't you do that before Soul and Tsubaki got there?"

"Didn't want to!"

"You're a terrible liar," Black*Star informs her. "Hard to change when you're being watched all the time, huh?"

"Would've left me alone eventually," she pouts, then gives another angry flail.

"Take it from me, kid," he says. "You might be stronger, faster, and harder to kill, and you might be able to change your shape, but there'll always be times where none of that matters and you're just as weak as the next human." He props his feet up on the seat in front of him, and Maka attempts to swat them away while keeping one hand on the wheel. "The only thing you can always rely on is your own self, and you're better off believing in that than in any special powers."

She huffs. "Whatever," she mutters. "So what're you gonna to do to me? Torture me? Kill me?"

Maka can see Black*Star roll his eyes through the rearview mirror. "None of the above, pipsqueak. We're gonna take you back to the bodyguard, soon as you tell us where he is."

"Why, so y'can kill him too?"

"It's the shtriga we want to kill, not him," Maka replies. "We just want to talk. If he's been guarding Mosquito, he might have some valuable information on how we can hurt him. Unless," she says, watching Angela's face, "we're wrong about him. Unless he really does believe in Arachne's cause, and wants to murder -"

"Mifune doesn't kill!" Angela says hotly. "Not unless people make him. He doesn’t hurt anyone if he doesn’t have to.”

"So what's making him, then?" she asks. "Work for the shtriga, that is."

At this, Angela hunches into herself. "Dunno. He won't tell me."

"Well, we can find out now. Where are you hiding out? Is it with Mosquito?"

She shakes her head. "Mifune won't let him into the truck, or the camper."

"Good." Maka passes a map back. "Show us where to go."

Black*Star helps orient her, and soon Maka's turning around, headed for the spot she pointed out.

"If you hurt him, or if you hurt me, he'll kill you," Angela states as the car bumps down the road. "All the hunters that came after us, they all died, and you will too."

"Like Maks said, as long as he's not threatening us or any other people, we won't hurt him."

She squints at him. "What're you doin’ with _her_ anyway? Mosquito was talkin' about your pack or whatever - hunters killed all them, why didn't they kill you?"

"Same reason you’re still alive, kid," he says darkly. “They didn’t have the stomach to murder an infant.”

“That’s not -” Maka begins to say, but Angela cuts her off with, “But they taught you to be a hunter? Even though you’re not human, like them?”

He shrugs, looking down at his hands.

“Mifune won’t even let me hold a knife," she complains. "He won't teach me how to shoot a gun, or how to sneak up on people, or anything. And he _never_ lets me shift, never." Her heels slam against the car door, for once not an attack aimed at any of them. "It's not fair! I could help him." She scowls at the ceiling. "He just doesn't trust me. He thinks I'm gonna go evil like my parents, that I'm gonna -"

"Pretend to be someone you're not to get them in trouble?" Black*Star suggests, and she falls silent. "You're not proving him wrong here."

"I just wanted to protect him," she grumbles. "I didn't hurt anyone, I didn't -"

"Maybe not directly," he says, stern, "but you could have gotten us all killed. What if the police really had arrested one of us? You think that you're the only people that want to have a piece of us? You think they'd care if they had to kill a couple of humans to get to us if they knew where we were locked up?" He shakes his head. " _This_ is why he doesn't want you to shapeshift - because you don't think of what could happen or who you could hurt when you do."

Her face squinches up with stubbornness and anger. "What do _you_ know," she sneers. "I saw you, with your claws and your fangs! Looks like _your_ parents don't care if you add teeth to your knives!"

" _My_ parents were exactly the same as your Mifune," Black*Star says coldly, and the fury in his voice is enough to make Angela snap her mouth shut in surprise. "They knew how dangerous I was and made sure that I _never_ forgot it, and the fact that I failed them _isn’t their fault._ ”

There's not much Angela can say to that, not that it stops her from trying to. Maka prevents another argument by stopping the jeep and saying, "We're here."

'Here' is an area of scrub a little way off the beaten road. A rugged truck hunches near a patch of trees, camper pressing up close against it. Nothing stirs within it, nor outside - the only movement is the fluttering of plastic bags stuck in dead weeds.

Maka shades her eyes against the bright sun. "Looks like he's not home," she says.

"He's there," Angela says with certainty. "Lemme get out first."

"Wait," Black*Star says, before rolling down the window. He gives a cautious sniff at the wind blowing towards them. "Don't smell Mosquito at least," he says.

"I told you, Mifune doesn't let him near our truck." Angela untangles herself from the blankets, jumping out the door with Maka and Black*Star following close behind. "Mifune!" she calls, running towards the camper. "Mifune!"

" _Angela_ ," comes the relieved reply, and Mifune drops down from the trees. He holds a hand to his bandaged chest as he straightens up. "Angela, where have you _been_?!"

She throws herself into his arms. Even from a distance, Maka can see the way he holds her tightly, the way he lets his worry seep out in the strength of his embrace and tries to bundle her up into a small enough ball for him to tuck away to safety forever. The strong scent of Papa's cologne washes over her, and in her ears she can hear his plea - _please, please come back_. She blinks away the sudden dampness in her eyes.

Mifune looks up, shuffling his charge behind him as he levels a shotgun at them. "If you hurt her," he begins, in a voice as sharp as the sword on his back, "if you dared to lay a single finger on her -"

"Relax, pops, she's fine. You should be apologizing to _us_ , if anything," Black*Star says, stopping a few feet away from them. "She nearly landed both of us in prison - well, guess that could still happen, you're still at large aren't you, Maks?"

"And you're still a wanted suspect for murder, Star," she replies, cautiously fingering the knife on her belt.

Mifune doesn't take his eyes off them, nor does his shotgun waver from its aim, but he does tilt his head in Angela's direction. "Angela?"

"They almost killed you," she sulks. "I just wanted ‘em to go away, I didn't mean -"

"We will speak of this later," he says, cutting her off, and Angela shrinks further behind him at his harsh tone.

The shotgun is still pointed straight at Black*Star's chest, but something in his posture eases, and he regards them with significantly less hostility. "So. You continue to be anomalies. A werewolf that speaks like a hunter, a huntress that spares a monster and returns her to her guardian." His eyes flicker to the jeep behind them. "And where is the witch that works with you, or the boy that my employer is so interested in securing?"

"Around," Maka says vaguely, hoping that they're still asleep at the hotel. "We want to talk to you."

He looks from her to Black*Star, then back again, before slowly lowering the gun. "All right." He jerks his head towards their camper. "Let's go inside then."

It's cramped inside, clearly meant for two people at most, not four. Still, something about it feels homey, cheerful even - paintings and drawings line the curved walls, brightly colored blankets cover the benches, and a vaguely lizard-shaped stuffed animal smiles at them from its perch on the bed.

“Albarn,” Mifune says thoughtfully as he passes out a few sodas from a cooler. “I’ve heard of your mother, but never crossed paths with her myself. How is she doing?...Ah," he says, reading her expression before she can gather the words to reply. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a while ago,” she manages, and busies herself with her Fanta.

He takes the hint, and turns instead to Black*Star, rubbing at his chest. “And you? What’s your story, Star Pack?”

“He’s not Star Pack,” Angela pipes up, reaching for a Sprite. “He never knew ‘em, got raised by hunters, like me.”

“ _You_ are not getting anything,” Mifune says, snatching it back. “You are in unimaginable trouble, Angela. Sneaking out, following me to work, and worse, shapechanging when I’ve expressly forbidden you from doing so!”

“They could've killed you, Mifune!” Angela argues back. " 'Nd they could’ve come back and done it again! You never let me help you, even though I can make them stop botherin' us easier than you -”

“That _doesn’t matter_.” He unfolds off the bench, towering over her. “What would you have done if you were caught shifting? Or if any other hunter than these had found you? You were fortunate that you weren’t killed on the spot - most would have done so without a second thought!” He shakes his head. “It’s _dangerous_ , Angela, and I have never been so disappointed in you!”

Angela glares at him, tears in her eyes, before she spins and exits the camper, slamming the door behind her. They watch her stomp over to the truck, disappearing inside of it.

The stern facade fades from Mifune’s face as soon as she’s out of view, and he sags back down onto the bench. “My apologies,” he says, weary. “I hope she didn’t cause any serious issues. She's been…difficult of late.”

"I'm sure hanging around with things like Mosquito and Arachne has really helped," Black*Star says sarcastically.

Mifune sighs. "I'm afraid that I've made a mistake on that part."

"Then let us help you correct it," Maka says. She leans forward, lacing her hands together. "Listen, we know what Mosquito is doing, and we know you're not on board with Arachne's little cult. We want you to help us kill him."

"...It's true I have no love of Mosquito, or his 'queen'. But we can't run forever, not from hunters, and not from other monsters that aren't happy with a shapeshifter being raised by someone who killed so many of them." He looks down at his soda can, expression troubled. "Mosquito offered me safety under Arachne's name, which carries more weight that you know."

"Teach her how to defend herself," Black*Star says, balancing his empty root beer can on a fingertip. "She's a tough kid, fierce. Probably would be a good hunter, if you'd let her -"

Mifune frowns. "She's _too_ fierce, too bold. I don't want to encourage her to solve her problems with violence - or, worse, with shifting. She's _dangerous_ , she doesn't even realize how much -"

"Maybe you should've thought about that before you decided to take her in." The can crinkles in Black*Star's fist. "Maybe you shouldn't have let your pity get the better of you. It's not her fault that she's a monster that you couldn't bring yourself to kill -"

"She's not -"

" 'Cause it's not a fucking walk in the park is it?" he bites out, blue-green eyes burning. "To be responsible for a dangerous reject - to have to protect the world from someone like her -"

"She is NOT a reject!" Mifune thunders, and the camper rocks as he slams his hands on the table. "She is my _daughter_. And I will protect her with everything I have, including my life!"

His face is the picture of absolute, unwavering conviction; a sharp-toothed snarl mars Black*Star's features as he glares. But the longer he holds eye contact with the man, the more Maka can see something begin to falter and break down in his expression, uncertainty making his throat bob and fists clench.

He's the first to look away. "Yeah," he snorts. "Sure."

"If you really want to protect her," Maka says, "then you should realize that getting her tangled up in Arachne's business will only end in bloodshed, either by you, or by her. So. Are you going to help us kill Mosquito, or not?"

Mifune says nothing, gaze traveling to the truck.

After a while though, he sighs heavily. "Very well. Yes, I will help you." He waits while Maka digs out her journal and uncaps a pen, then continues. "I was hired to do two things - one, to be present during these...recruiting meetings to keep any issues that arise to a minimum. And two, I also guard Mosquito when he feeds - because that's the only time he's vulnerable enough to kill."

"That must be why the iron didn't work," Maka mutters as she writes it down.

"He needs to feed every week. He's already picked out his next victim - woman with metastatic cancer, on hospice care - and he'll strike the day after tomorrow. I can tell you where we will be...and I will step aside when the time comes."

"Great," Black*Star says, drumming his fingers on the table as Mifune accepts Maka's contact information. "Can we go now?"

Angela is still sulking in the truck when they leave the camper, and refuses to come out with Mifune calls for her to say goodbye. "It's okay," Maka reassures him, digging the keys out of her pocket. "We'll be in touch. Thanks."

"Wait," Mifune says as they turn to go. "I know now - I have heard of you. Black*Star. You're the child that Sid Barrett and Mira Nygus adopted, aren't you."

Black*Star stiffens, but doesn't turn around, shoulders raised.

"You accuse me of taking in Angela out of pity," he continues. "That I see her only as some kind of burden, something that I need to control and discipline." He tilts his head. "And yet, I would think the son of Sid and Nygus would understand more than most about parents wanting to protect their children."

Black*Star's knuckles whiten. "I'm no son of theirs," he growls, before stalking to the jeep and slamming the door.

Maka follows after him, sliding into the car and fastening her seatbelt. " 'I'm no son of theirs'," Maka mimics, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"You wouldn't understand," he mutters, slouching in his seat.

"I understand that you're acting like a whiny brat right now." He jerks his head away to look out the window, arms crossed and mouth screwed into an angry pout. "Sid and Nygus have been trying to get a hold of you, and you've been blowing them off at every turn. You know the first thing that we all think when someone isn't answering their phone for long periods of time is that they're dead -"

"Yeah, and if I was it'd be so much easier for everyone, wouldn't it?" he spits. "You wouldn't have to keep feeling like it's your responsibility to keep me on the vegetarian diet so you don't have to kill me, and Sid and Nygus could to rest easy knowing they didn't release a murderer into society."

"What are you even talking about?” she says, shocked. “They want to know if you're alive because they care about you, Star, not because they think that you're some sort of - of -"

"Monster?" he finishes for her, lip curling. "Funny, that's not what I remember them thinking."

She sighs, shakes her head. "Just - give it to me straight, Star. What's going on?" He doesn't say anything, so she prods further. "Is it because of what happened at the carnival? Did you call them and tell them -"

"No, of fucking course I didn't!" he snaps. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey Sid, Nygus, just calling to let you know I'm still alive! By the way, you remember how you always told me eating human hearts is what made the rest of the Star Pack evil? Yeah, so guess what I did on my last case! Sorry that you wasted twenty-two years of your life trying to raise me to not be exactly like them.' " He lets out a bitter, humorless laugh. "I'm sure _that_ would go over well."

Maka tries to protest, but he barrels over her, saying, "You know, I can't even decide what'd be worse." His fingers dig into his skin, and she can see the way they sharpen into claws before retracting back to chewed-off nails. "If they got upset and yelled at me or if –“ his voice lowers, wobbling, “if they just sighed and said 'well, we always knew it was just a matter of time'."

"I can _tell_ you what they'd do," Maka says firmly, shoving his hand away from his arm. "They'd pick up the phone immediately, before the first ring would even finish, and Sid would chew you out for a solid minute for making them worry - 'that's not the kind of man I raised!' he'd say. Then, when you told them about the carnival, they'd immediately ask you if you were okay, if you were hurt, if they needed to come and take care of you. Sid'd start sniffling and deny he was crying, Nygus would go even quieter but she'd get that weird high-pitched voice and you’d know she’d be twirling her knives in her hands. And they'd both ask you to come _home_ -"

"So they could keep an eye on me!" he counters vehemently. "You don't know anything about it! You don't know about - about how they couldn't watch me eat the hearts they bought me - how they made me hide anytime their other hunter friends came by. How they'd look at me whenever the other hunters left and never came back. How every day they'd tell me -"

" 'Keep your teeth sheathed and your claws in'," she recites. " 'Your actions are your own, and no matter what, don't hurt anyone'. I was there too, remember? I got the same lecture you did from Sid and Nygus, and from my parents, anytime I visited because I kept beating up what's-his-face, your neighbor who kept making fun of us -"

"Ryoku."

"Yeah, that asshole. They told you those things because they're your parents, Star, that's what parents _do_." Black*Star just keeps shaking his head, stubborn, and she tries again. "Do you remember that one time when Ryoku went too far? When we were eleven or so? He kept saying horrible stuff about you, and I got so angry I hit him in the stomach. And he grabbed one of my pigtails and he -"

"Punched you in the jaw," he says, eyes narrowing in remembrance. "And you were bleeding and crying, and you never cry when we hit each other -"

"And you never got involved when me and Ryoku would fight, but you got so angry that you launched yourself at him and ended up breaking his arm. And we both knew we were going to be in _so much trouble_ so we hid out in the big tree in your backyard all day, but we got hungry when it got dark and tried to sneak inside. And do you remember what Sid and Nygus did when they caught us?"

He doesn't say anything, hunching further into himself.

"They hugged you. Remember? They didn't yell, or demand to know what happened, or tell you off for attacking a human. They held you and asked you if you were okay, if you were hurt, because they were worried about _you_ , Star - because they _love you_."

He shifts uncomfortably, and she can read the sorrow and fear in the drawing together of his brows, in the slump of his mouth and in the way he curls his knees to his chest. "Maybe," is all he says. "Maybe."


	10. the change

"Ahhh, Soul," Oni says from its perch in Soul's armchair. Its legs are stretched out on the footstool, crossed at the ankles and twitching, and a wineglass dangles from one hand. "What a pleasant surprise. It's been a while, you know."

"Not long enough," Soul mutters, and his eyes are drawn to the dark black liquid swirling in the demon's glass. It gives him a wide grin before taking a delicate sip, and Soul suppresses a shudder. "Don't you have any other tunes?" he asks, scowling at the tinny wailing coming from the phonograph. "This one is shit."

"Oh I have _many_ other tunes, never you fear," it says brightly, hopping up off the chair. "Would you like to hear them?" It snaps a finger, and the trombones begin to croon along to _Mack the Knife_ \- another snap and the fragments of Sinatra's voice pours from the horn – _that strips my conscience[bare](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oFmNgiEgPoQ)…_

"Ahhh, listen to it," Oni says, setting down the wineglass and biting his nails as he sways to the song. "Do you remember this one? How glorious it was to watch the werewolf lose himself?" It sighs dreamily. "What fun friends you have, Soul. I can't wait until we see how the other vampire huntress reacts -"

"That's _not_ going to happen," Soul growls, striding over to the phonograph and pulling up the needle.

 _What good would common sense for it do_ , Sinatra sings, and he snatches the record, snapping it over his leg.

If anything, the music gets louder, swelling to thunderous heights. Clammy hands grab Soul's arms and spin him around.

 _Although I know it’s strictly taboo…_  

"Don't be foolish," Oni chides, its grip on his wrist painful. "I know everything about you, my dear Soul. I know how much you _loved_ watching those djinn suffer."

 "I didn't -!" Soul starts to say, but the demon yanks him closer, cutting off his protest. It threads Soul's arm around its waist before settling its hand on his shoulder, and begins to lead him into a mangled version of a waltz.

_When you arouse the need in me..._

" _No_ ," Soul snarls, desperately trying to tug his hands away. Oni's grasp tightens, and he's forced to move with him, tripping and stumbling against the demon's immovable form. "No, I - I hated it, I hated every minute of it, I never wanted -"

"Oh?" it inquires as it twirls them around the checkerboard floor. "You're telling me you hated the power that flowed through you when you allowed yourself to be _free_? You're saying that you didn't enjoy hearing the call of their blood and shaping it into the song you wished to hear?" It leers closer. "You're telling me you're _not_ craving it right now, that you don't want to just let loose and make a little _noise_?!"

_My heart says 'yes indeed' in me..._

" _Yes_ , that's what I'm telling you!" Soul snaps, but his words are weak, too weak as the feeling of wild joy, of savage glee creeps into him, and he struggles against the intense need that seizes him by the shoulders and _screams_ to be fed -

 _Proceed with what you're leading me to.._.

He wrenches himself away from Oni and covers the grin that has begun to spread its way across his face, one that the demon mirrors perfectly, teeth gleaming. "I - I don't," he manages behind his hands. "I don't like it, at all. I never wanted this, it's more - more trouble than it's worth, and I wish I'd never dealt with you -"

The music screeches to a stop.

" _Really_ ," the demon says, and now there's an undercurrent of anger in its tone. Soul takes an unconscious step back as its features suddenly twist into fury, grin flipping upside down and burning eyes narrowing as it advances on him. " _Who_ saved you from the djinn?" it demands. " _Who_ made sure that your weak, miserable self didn't get sucked in by its dreams, and who gave you the power you needed to kill them all and save your precious Maka?" Its fingers jab into his chest, and Soul stumbles backwards, tripping on a table and falling to the floor.

The demon stands over him, spittle spraying into Soul's face as it yells, " _Who_ prevented Mosquito from wiping everyone out and laying claim to you?! It was not _your_ doing, you pathetic, sniveling excuse for a lifeform! It was _mine, me,_ and you could stand to show me a _little more respe -_ "

It stops suddenly, finger lowering as it cranes its head towards the door.

"…What?" Soul asks, trying to keep his voice from trembling as he cautiously props himself up to look in the same direction. "What's -"

The demon yanks him roughly to his feet, and begins to drag him towards the black door. "Hey!" Soul protests, digging his heels in, but the demon merely pulls harder. "Why -"

It shoves him at the door. "Looks like I have to save you, yet again," it sneers. "Time to wake up, Soul. And _don't piss him off._ " 

* * *

Soul's eyes fly open. He keeps his breath steady, letting his eyes adjust to the dark as he tries to figure out what caused Oni to panic and force him to awaken. Fingers of sunlight reach through the drapes, touching the carpet, the table, the edge of the bed and - there. A tall, dark figure, looming at the foot.

Soul fakes a snuggle into his pillow, fingers closing over the dagger between the bed and headboard. The smooth hilt does little to slow his pounding heart.

One minute the shadow is at the foot of the bed - then Soul blinks, and it's gone. Immediately there's a pressure on his throat - an iron grip clutching at his neck as the figure bends over him.

" _Solomon Evans_ ," something seethes in his ear. Soul struggles in the thing's grasp, one hand clawing at the fingers wrapped around his windpipe, the other bringing up the dagger to stab wildly at its arms.

The blade sinks in, and a few seconds later the hands withdraw. Soul sucks in a deep breath as he flails himself upright.

He's met with a glowing amber glare, and he recognizes those eyes, that deathly pale skin, the hair so dark that it seems to swallow the light in the room. There’s still that strange quality to the side of his face, and Soul finds his gaze being inexorably drawn to it. Something shimmers there - no, not shimmers so much as _slices_ , three razor-thin slices of…

 _It's like looking between planes_ , Soul thinks, mesmerized. Like the reality around the man had somehow been stripped away in that area, and through the gashes leaked something that wasn't… wasn't light, so much as it was _nothingness_. He can almost see tendrils seeping out from the tear - no, not seeping, but clawing, ravenous for everything _, everything_ in existence, and its hunger calls to something in him, to the churning chaos that laps at his knees and threatens to overwhelm -

Soul tears his eyes away from the man's face, fingers aching with the force of his grip on the knife. "You…" he croaks, pointing his knife at his chest. The tip wavers slightly and he hopes that it's not noticeable in the dark. "I know you. You were the thing that stole Masamune's soul."

Tall and regal, the man regards him as one might an angry ant, looking both disdainful and almost curious as to what this tiny, insignificant creature thinks it could do against him. "I did not _steal_ him," he sniffs in a surprisingly melodious tenor. "His soul was mine to take. Too long had he lingered here - his presence upon this plane invited only disaster, unbalancing that which holds this world together." He tilts his head. "Just as you do."

"M-me?"

" _You_ ," he hisses, and Soul raises his weapon defensively at the fierceness of his tone. "A warped weight that condemns any that you touch, your soul threaded with madness that defies the natural order. You are worse than those that sit heavy upon the plates of life and death - yours is the finger that tips it all over and sends it careening into meaningless chaos."

"Sorry, _what?"_ Soul shakes his head. "What even _are_ you?"

"I am a reaper," he replies, drawing himself up, and the room seems to shrink as he looms over him, "and it is _my_ job to calibrate the scales."

“A reaper?” Soul repeats, mouth dry. “Those are _real_?” Fuck, as if they didn’t have enough dangerous monsters on their ass... “What do you want with me?” he asks, still clutching onto the knife though he’s quickly realizing how little it can protect him. “You weren’t able to kill me before -”

"Do not mistake your release as an indication of a lack of power to eradicate your very existence,” the reaper sniffs. “You were _lucky._ I was about to relieve this world of your diseased soul, but Death himself intervened.” His eyes narrow. “And _you_ are going to tell me _why._ "

"How am I supposed to know?" Soul demands. "Believe it or not, I try to stay as far away from him as possible.”

“You do a very poor job of it.”

“Wow, thanks, I hadn’t noticed.” He crosses his arms. “If you’re so curious and so eager to kill me, why not take it up with him then?”

The reaper looks away, austere features pinched into a frown. “He would not tell me,” he says stiffly.

Soul waits, but he seems disinclined to say more. “Well _I_ don’t have the slightest clue.” He studies his face, then says, slowly, “But you already knew that, didn’t you? So...why are you here, really?”

“A warning.” The reaper straightens, and the slashes of nothingness near his face seem to sharpen, the sight cutting painfully into Soul’s vision. “I have seen your face,” he intones, “tasted your corruption, ingrained the shape of your soul into my memory. Should you attempt to break the rules of order again - should you seek to pervert other innocent souls as you descend into madness, retaliation will be swift, and brutal.” The molten gold of his eyes fills Soul’s vision as he’s yanked closer, the reaper’s hands icy cold against his windpipe. “Do _not_ try me, Solomon,” he says lowly. “Death or no Death, deal or no deal, I will not hesitate to kill you if you continue to threaten the natural order.”

He lets go, and Soul sinks backwards, coughing and rubbing at his throat. “It’s _Soul_ ,” he manages. “N-not Solomon. _Soul_.”

“As you wish,” the reaper says, gaze unwavering and utterly, deadly earnest. “I will be watching you, _Soul,_ ” and he is gone.

Soul waits perhaps a minute or two longer, taking ragged gasps of breath, but the reaper does not show himself again. His hands shake as he looks at his bloodless reflection in the blade of the knife.

He's stared down demons, tangled with djinn, wrestled with his own dangerous, unstable powers that have proven to be more of a threat than any monster they've ever hunted. And yet, just the memory of those deadly eyes, flaring with a determination that even Maka couldn't match - the absolute, unwavering certainty in his voice, his words ringing with promise instead of threats - the sheer amount of _strength_ in just his hands as they clamped down around him -

He tosses his useless weapon down in disgust, and with three bounding steps he reaches the window, shoving back the curtains. Sunlight assaults his face, burning away some of his fear, and he looks down for their jeep. It's not there, even though it’s been – he glances at the clock – nearly four hours since he came back. Panic begins to form a knot in his chest, but just as he’s about to scramble for his phone, he spies the car, just turning into the lot. It's hard to tell from the distance, but he doesn't see any injuries on either Black*Star or Maka as they get out of the car - and he also doesn't see the shapeshifter.

They disappear from view as they enter the hotel, and Soul pulls on clothes, checking on Tsubaki, still out cold. He grabs the ice from their bathroom, and settles into the armchair, trying not to jump at the fluttering of the shadows from the heater disturbing the curtains.

The door bangs open and Black*Star strolls in. "Got some great news!" he announces to the room. "Figured out how to kill the shtriga and when to -"

"Shut _up_ , Black*Star, Soul might still be - oh, he's awake." The bruising around Maka's eye has deepened from dark red to plum, and he holds out a washcloth filled with ice for her.

She comes over to accept it and presses it to her face. "We got Angela to tell us where Mifune was hiding out," she says. "Took her back and talked with him -"

"Wait, you _what_?" he exclaims, rising up out of the chair. "You went to go confront the bodyguard that nearly killed you and Black*Star without me or Tsubaki?"

She waves his indignation off. "It was fine, Soul, I figured out that there was no love lost between him and Mosquito. He wasn't going to hurt us, especially since we were returning his daughter without a scratch on her."

"He told us the shtriga can only be killed when it's feeding off a soul," Black*Star says. "And that he was going to be going after someone the day after tomorrow, gave us the place and told us he wouldn't interfere." A triumphant grin splits his face, spreading to Maka's as well. "Basically, we kicked ass."

"Pretty much," Maka agrees, bumping his fist with her own. _At least they seem to have put their issues behind them_ , Soul notes with relief.

"...Alright," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Sounds like we've got a time, a place, and a way to kill this thing. So, what now?"

"Now we sit back, chill -"

"Now we _prepare_ ," Maka corrects, rolling her eyes. “And make sure we’ll rested up.” She squints at Soul, scrutinizing his tired face. “You look like you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep,” she says, frowning. “What were you doing while we were out?”

 _Talking to the little demon inside my head and trying not to get murdered by some sort of avenging reaper._ “Waiting for you,” he answers truthfully.

Her face softens, though she tries to hide it with a scowl. “Well, you’ll just have to go to bed early tonight,” she says, attempting to sound gruff, but there’s that look again, the same one she gave him only a few hours ago. Just having it directed at him has his heart pounding in his chest, words failing him as he attempts to hold her gaze.

She looks at him with wonder, with an unbearable, yearning tenderness that makes his fingers ache to caress her cheek. She looks at him as if she’s been travelling a long, long time, and to simply see him, waiting for her, was worth every painful step along the way – as if he is everything she could have ever wanted, and more.

“Tsu!” Black*Star exclaims as the door swings open, and Maka startles, breaking eye contact. The loss of her gaze is like turning away from the sun, the cold more keenly felt because of the lingering warmth it left.

Black*Star babbles onto Tsubaki about their findings, but Soul can’t pay attention, still stunned, still staring at the curve of Maka’s neck and the gentle curl of her hair. She busies herself with icing down her shiner, avoiding his eyes, the moment gone.

And yet he _knows_ that look that she gave him, knows it with bone-deep recognition. Try as he might to pass it off as simple affection for a partner, the way it resonates within him convinces him, with a certainty that shakes him to his core, that it’s _more_.

* * *

The rest of the day passes quickly. Tsubaki insists she feels much better, and so they take a trip out to Black*Star's original camping site. The clouds have rolled in, coating the forest in a thick, damp fog, but the heat from their makeshift forge keeps them warm as they melt down spare iron for bullets.

It's work, yes, but Black*Star wasn't completely wrong in calling it 'chilling out' as well. He and Soul get into an argument over whose music to listen to, resulting in a truly awful mix of jazz and rap as they each crank up the volume in their cars to try and drown the other out. Maka discovers she and Tsubaki continue to have similar taste in literature, this time lurid romance novels instead of ancient texts, and it keeps them giggling while the boys have it out over Fats Domino versus DMX.

For the first time in a long while, Maka feels content, maybe even happy, as she watches Soul muss up Star's hair with a sharp, mischievous grin, then suddenly back off and run away as Black*Star charges after him. She yells for Soul to go faster as they chase each other around the truck, and he nearly makes it into the safety of the jeep before Black*Star leaps on top of the cab and pounces. Next to her, Tsubaki chuckles, amusement easing the lines of her face and highlighting the beauty of her features, and Maka can't help but echo her smile.

Black*Star emerges victorious, easily hefting a sour-looking Soul over his shoulder, and touts him back to them, smug grin on his face. A rush of fierce affection sweeps through her for all of them, and she thinks back to her conversation with Star, not so very long ago - _I have other friends,_ she had claimed, desperate and uncertain.

"I have friends," she whispers to herself, and this time it comes out smoothly, confidently.

"Did you say something, Maka?" Tsubaki asks, and she looks up at the three of them - Tsubaki's face gentle and patient, Black*Star frowning in concern, and Soul...Soul looking at her like he knows exactly what she's feeling, the warmth in his expression making her feel as if she had swallowed the sun.

She blinks away the stinging in her eyes, unable to fight the grin that steals across her face. "I'm fine," she assures them, voice only a little wobbly - then adopts a sterner tone. "I'd be better if _some_ of us stopped slacking and picked up some of the work though!"

"Fine, _Mom_ ," Black*Star says, rolling his eyes, and Soul squawks as he's dropped, face first, onto the grass. "Huh," he says, crouching over the bunsen burner. "You may be almost as good as I am at this, Tsu, these bullets're looking _sweet_."

Later, they head back to the hotel, picking up a couple of pizzas for dinner on the way, and thumb through the hotel bibles with greasy fingers. Maka stumbles through consecrating about three of the bullets before Black*Star begins to take creative license with the verses, dedicating his slugs of metal to himself. From there it devolves into a competition of who can invoke the stupidest object as a god - even Tsubaki joins in, shyly reciting, 'bless the Pizza Hut, O my soul', and glows with pleasure as Black*Star howls in laughter.

It's near nine when Soul declares that it's bedtime for all of them. He turns off the TV to a chorus of boo's, practically dragging Maka away from her conversation with Black*Star about the finer points of SpongeBob SquarePants. He marches her into their room, both of them pointedly ignoring Tsubaki's sly 'good night' and Black*Star's catcalls, and shuts the door softly behind them.

It's in companionable quiet that they get ready for bed, brushing their teeth together and taking turns changing into pajamas. The bed welcomes Maka with a soft embrace, and Soul turns off the nightstand light, leaving only the sterile green of the digital clock to provide illumination in the room.

They've shared a bed before, and Maka reminds herself of this over and over as she listens Soul's breathing, feels the ridge of his spine against her own. The bed dips and sighs as they both shift, trying to get comfortable, and the brushing of Soul's bare heel against her calf makes her want to both pull away on instinct and run her foot along the curve of his ankle.

They've shared a bed before, but Maka knows something's changed, something new in the scant inches between them, something more apparent when they aren't simply collapsing next to each other out of sheer exhaustion, or seeking comfort from the fear and anxiety that plagues them. It's on her side, she's sure - she can tell that Soul's keeping himself as still as possible, hugging the edge of the bed as closely as he can without actually falling over. But she can't help but think about how warm his back is, how it might feel to have his arms draped around her waist and pillowing her head - or imagine his breath caressing against her cheeks, cold nose pressing against her own. What his features would feel like under her fingers, the curve of his cheekbones, the feathering of his eyelashes, the bow of his lips - to cup his face in her hands and map out the expressions she knows so well with the sensitivity of the blind, to try and discern his thoughts, his feelings...

"Everything okay?" he asks, and she does her best not to jump at his sudden intrusion into her very not-partner-like thoughts.

"Y-yeah," she says, grateful for the darkness that hides the flush creeping up her neck. "W...why do you ask?"

"You keep sighing. Something wrong?"

"No, no. I-I'm good."

She can practically feel the disbelief radiating off of him, so she adds, "I'm just...a little scared, I guess."

"Of the shtriga?"

"Of..." _Losing you_ , she wants to say. _To Arachne, to Medusa, to hell - to my own foolish, damaging -_

"You're not -" He clears his throat, and she realizes, to her utmost horror, that she said part of that aloud. "You're not going to lose me," he says, softer. The sheets rustle as he turns, and she can feel his eyes on the back of her neck.

"How can you know that?" The numbers of the clock blur, waver, and she whispers, hoarse, "It's been months now, Soul, and we're no closer to keeping you hell-free than we were before. I've looked and looked and I just - I don't -"

"Maka." Soft fingers touch her shoulder, and she shudders, half out of misery and half out of desire, before reluctantly letting him guide her into shifting around to face him. The faint light casts deep shadows on his features, but she doesn't have to see him to hear the sincerity in his voice when he says, "I'm still here. Even though Medusa's been hounding us for the better part of a year - even though Arachne's tried to capture me multiple times -"

"But for how long?" and they both know the answer to that, but neither can bring themselves to say it out loud.

"I wish - I wish we'd never taken on that job," she confesses. "I wish that I had been better, smarter - that I hadn't thrown myself in front of the rawhead. That I hadn't made you sell your soul to bring me back, that I hadn't failed at killing that djinn -" and the hiss of Medusa's voice scrapes against her brain – _you_ enticed _him_ \- and she swallows, saying, "That I hadn't forced you to come with me -"

"You never forced me to do anything, Maka," Soul says, sounding taken aback. "I came along with you because I wanted to."

She gives a huff of a laugh. "Wanted to find Wes, you mean. Because who would ever want to leave their comfortable life to go tour the finest shitholes that America has to offer with a reckless idiot like me?"

"I would," he says quietly.

She blinks, words dying on her lips.

"I've never regretted it," he says slowly, each word heavy with truth. "Becoming your partner. Spending the last five years with you. Making the deal with Medusa to bring you back." He caresses her cheek, and she closes her eyes, savoring the long, languid sweep of his thumb against her skin. "If bearing this curse and going to hell is what it takes to have another year with you, to keep you safe and alive and with me, then I'd - I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"You," she breathes, heart thrumming in her chest, "you care about me that much?"

He's silent for a while, and when he finally does speak his voice strains with the effort of keeping his tone light. "Sold my soul for you, Maka. What more does a guy have to do to show he cares?"

She tries to say something more, but he draws his hand away quickly, muttering, "A-anyway, you should sleep."

"Soul -"

He flips to face the wall, shoulders hunched up around his ears. " 'S late," he says, voice muffled by the pillow. " 'M tired, good night." He pretends to fall into an even breathing pattern, but Maka's not fooled - not with how tense his body is beside her, not with how the bed quivers with the nervous twitching of his toes.

He startles when she threads her fingers through his hair. She traces eddies on his scalp, curls her hand around the contours of his neck, feeling his pulse flutter rapidly beneath her fingertips. "It's the same for me," she whispers. "The same."

He doesn't respond with words, but she can feel him ease beneath her touch. Carefully, cautiously, his hand slides up to cover hers, and she interlaces her fingers with his. She squeezes tightly, as if she could keep him with her there, forever, if only she held on hard enough.

* * *

A pounding on the door rouses Maka from deep sleep. She blinks in the darkness, wondering if she'd dreamt the sound - then hears the handle jiggle, and someone slapping at the wood over and over again.

She uncurls her fingers from Soul's shoulder and slips out of bed. The edges of the world seem strange, still and tense, and, unsure if she's dreaming or not, she opens the door.

"Angela?"

The girl pushes past her, Maka too disoriented to protest. "Do y'have the iron bullets? Blessed and everythin'?"

"Y-yeah," she replies, closing the door. There's a muttered fragment of her name from the bed and the shifting of the sheets, but Maka ignores it, following Angela as she starts to paw through their bags. "We're all ready, but - I thought Mosquito wasn't taking his next victim until tomorrow."

"Not anymore." Knives, fake passports and first aid kits go flying, and Angela makes a disgusted noise as she tosses the backpack to the floor.

"What?" Maka asks, reaching for Angela's wrist. "What's happened?"

Angela shakes her hand away, mouth trembling. "It's Mifune," she says in a small, brittle voice. "Mosquito has him. _He's_ the next victim."

* * *

Five minutes later, they're all gathered in Soul and Maka's room, listening to Angela relate the situation.

"He knew, somehow," she says, hugging herself. "That Maka 'nd Black*Star talked to Mifune. Came by a few hours ago, said that there'd been a change in plans. Then he - he put a hand to Mifune's face and Mifune just - just sunk down like he'd cut his hamstrings, and Mosquito said..." She takes a deep breath. "He said that he was gonna eat him, unless I brought him Soul."

"M-me?" Soul asks, pointing to himself.

"Uh huh. So I told him fine, pretended to go along with it. Said I knew how I'd do it already, and he let me go -"

"How?" Tsubaki asks, raking her hands through her hair. "How would you get Soul there?"

She shrugs. "Probl'y shift into Maka, tell him somethin' like Mifune texted us 'nd said Mosquito's going to eat the woman now. That only you 'nd me could go 'cause any more than that'd be suspicious, or somethin'." Her face sets into an unyielding glare. "I came to you 'cause Mifune said if anythin' went bad tomorrow, you'd help us -"

"We will," Maka soothes absently, staring off into the distance with a look of concentration. "We just - we need to think, need a plan -"

"Just go in there and grab him!" Angela stabs a finger at Soul. "I saw him last time, he stopped Mosquito from moving - just do that again and let me and Black*Star fuck him up!"

"Kid, we all nearly died last time we went up against the shtriga," Black*Star says, serious. "And none of us were really uh, holding it together either -"

"What you saw, with Mosquito, is part of why he wants me so badly," Soul supplies. "It's not…it's not as uh, great as you might think it is." Just the remembrance of the power coursing through him, of the way the madness sharpened his senses and clouded his reason, makes him feel sick to his stomach with both disgust and craving.

"I don't care!" Angela says hotly. "Mifune's going to _die_. So why can't you -"

"He's only vulnerable when he feeds," Maka murmurs, biting on a knuckle. "If we all just go charging in, we'll never be able to kill him." She straightens up, gaze sweeping over all of them. "We have to give him what he wants," she says. Her eyes meet Soul's. "We have to give him Soul."

* * *

"This's a stupid idea."

"Less slurring," Maka coaches, turning down something that's more the suggestion of previous passages than a road. "That's the right words and tone, but Soul's got that highbrow education that makes him sound all proper unless he's trying to fit in or he's tired."

"This is," Angela enunciates, "a really, _really_ stupid idea."

"That's more like it." Mist clings close to the sides of the jeep, and Maka squints out the windshield in the half-light of dawn. "You sure we're going the right way?"

" 'Cour - of course I'm sure," Angela answers. She slouches in the seat next to her and scowls, her face a perfect replica of Soul's. A tanned hand drums against the side of the door, and Maka tries very desperately not to let the girl's appearance throw her off.

"Soul's gotten better, but there are lots of little things he does that you can tell is from his aristocratic upbringing," she says, more to distract herself than out of any real need for Angela to know. "Like, he always folds a napkin in his lap even if we're just eating Chef Boyardee in the motel. And he still turns his nose up at some fast food places - he outright refuses to eat at White Castle, and he gets this hangdog look whenever there's just a Jack in the Box or a Taco Bell in town -"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Angela interrupts, rolling her eyes. "I don't just take on people's appearance, y'know, I get some of _them_ too."

"What do you mean?"

Angela waves a hand vaguely. "It's not anything _specific_ , like memories, but more like impressions. Of how they carry themselves or walk - how they speak, or what their nervous tics are. Sometimes you can even get a sense of how what they think of others, like if they hate someone or who feel comfortable around." She shrugs. "But it takes a while for it all to sink in, and I'm, um, not very good at letting it take over. Not yet, anyway. So it's easier if I know them."

"Did you change into Soul before, then?" Maka asks her. "You said you had a plan to lure him to Mosquito, and honestly it might've even worked - was it because you had been him before and knew what would get him to come with you?"

Angela gives her a withering look. "Please. You'd have to be a total moron to not to know you're his weak point. Got that within the first five minutes of just watching, with him stopping his freaky powers 'caus - because of you getting close to Mosquito."

"Oh," Maka mutters.

"But even if I didn't know it already," she continues, "I'd definitely know it by now. Every instinct he has is to protect you and trust you. Just like when I was in your skin, being interrogated by him."

"It's what partners do," Maka says simply.

Angela snorts, blowing strands of white out of her eyes. "Sure, whatever."

The jeep rumbles down the path, bushes and saplings brushing against its sides. Through the redwoods, Maka catches glimpses of water. "The lake," she says. "Must almost be there."

"Yeah," Angela confirms, running a hand through Soul's hair. A worried frown creases her face. "I hope Mifune is okay."

"There'd be no point to Mosquito draining him before you bring back Soul - uh - yourself," Maka says.

"But what about after? Or during this plan of yours, which, again, is stupid." Her hands dig into her jeans. "Didn't even get to say I was sorry for breaking his rules..."

"You'll still have the chance -"

"But what if I don’t?!” she bursts out. “Mifune’s all I have, and I’ve already – I –“

“Already what, Angela?” Maka asks gently.

“Ruined his life,” she says, softly, then before Maka can protest, continues, “I - I know I was giving the werewolf a hard time about his parents killing his pack and then raising him, but..." She looks down. "I get it. I don't even remember my parents very much - just impressions, like I shifted into my body instead of being born in it. Hands helping peel off my old skin. Someone giving me a bath. Being sung a lullaby in an unfamiliar crib." She shrinks into herself, saying, "But I do remember what they did. I remember hearing screams - remember getting confused and thinking the bodies were just shed skins, except skins don't bleed, so why was there so much blood? And then helping my parents scrub it all away later, after they cut up the corpses and buried them somewhere."

She shakes her head. "I don't blame Mifune for killing them. And he - he lost so much because he took me in, because he stopped the other hunters from killing me by killing them." Her fingers smooth out Soul's jeans, over and over again. "He had a fiancée, you know? She wasn't a hunter but she knew about what he did. He brought me home with him and told me not to shift, and I was so scared that he'd kill me like he killed those hunters or my parents that I didn't even take a bath for a week. But it got better, and we all lived together for a while until I forgot to be afraid and I shifted. And I got caught, by her."

She wraps her arms around herself. "She locked me in a closet, called Mifune to come home. Screamed at him that I was a monster, a shifter, that he needed to kill me - wouldn't listen to anything he tried to say. It got loud," she says softly. "Then quiet. I remember huddling in the corner, and the floor was all slippery because I couldn't stop myself from shifting over and over again...the skins kept piling up and it smelled so bad...

"And then the closet door opened. And Mifune told me everything was going to be okay, and he picked me up, and we got into his car and drove away. And we've been running ever since."

There's a familiar hitch to Soul's voice as she says, "I ruined his life because of shifting when I shouldn't have, and now - now he's going to die because I did it again, because I couldn't help myself - because I'm just like my parents -"

"Stop it," Maka commands, stopping the car. Red eyes widen as she turns to Angela, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Mifune made a choice to take you in, yes, but you are his _daughter_ , in every sense of the word. It's not your fault that some people can't see that." She squeezes. "Just because you can shift doesn't make you a monster, and it doesn't mean you're going to be the same as your parents," and Black*Star's words slip from her mouth - "Everyone makes their own choices."

She lets go, turning her attention back to the road as she urges the jeep down it. "You're not a child, so I'm not going to lie to you - we're doing something very, very dangerous, and we might all die because of it, Mifune included. But even if we do, if he does, it's _not_ your fault. You're not the person threatening to kill him - Mosquito is, and that's not on _you._ "

Out of the corner of her eye, Maka can see Angela looking at her, strange expression on her face - part grateful, part relieved, part puzzled. "Th…thanks," she ends up grumbling, looking away, out the window.

A few minutes later, Angela says, "It's not yours either. About your mom. Or about Soul."

Maka's hand slips on the wheel, nearly running them off the road. She hastens to right them, sputtering, "H-how do you know -"

"I told you. I was in your skin for a while. Your guilt is the strongest thing that comes through." A shrug. "Thought you could use your own advice. That it's not your fault."

Black*Star's voice echoes through her mind - _people will die, no matter what you do_ \- and Soul chimes in - _I'd do it again in a heartbeat_ \- and Maka finds herself gripping the steering wheel, fighting back tears.

"There," Angela says abruptly, and Maka blinks, clearing her vision before following her finger to the sleek, expensive looking car parked in front of them, looking incredibly out of place. "That's his. And he said he'd be by the lake - we can get to it using the trail in front of it."

Maka parks the car, and they get out. The first strains of birdsong are beginning to sound, and they’re close enough to the lake for her to hear the distant lapping of the water on the shore. She runs her hands over the smooth barrel of her pistol, pretending to look around and check her surroundings, though her eyes keep drifting to the elegant car in front of them.

Maybe five minutes later, she hears the thrum of an engine, and nods at Angela. "Come on, Soul," she says, trying to keep her voice normal. "I think Mifune said it's not that far from here."

"Lead the way," comes his voice, and she obliges, flicking away branches as she sets off on the trail.

It's slippery going, and more than once Maka reaches out to stabilize herself on a sapling, or grabs Angela's shirt before the girl falls. Her socks feel sodden and heavy despite the protection of her boots, and she shivers, partially because of the early morning chill, partially because of what she knows is awaiting them at the end of the path.

The bushes and vegetation fade away and presently Maka and Angela find themselves on the shore of a lake, large enough that Maka can just barely make out the trees on the other side. A dilapidated shack crouches in front of a rickety looking dock that spindles off into the water.

"You go in first," she tells Angela. "I'll cover you."

She dips her head in agreement and they begin to cautiously approach the shack. The familiar weight of the pistol does little to ease Maka's apprehension as Angela prods open the door and eases her way inside.

Faint fingers of light trace lines on the dirt floor, and the entire place smells of mold and rot. The pale fruiting bodies of mushrooms paint the walls dun gray and cream, and the air feels heavy, oppressive and musty.

Mifune is slumped in the corner, long hair forming a curtain around his slack face. Angela takes a step, and Maka catches the corner of her sleeve and gives a warning tug. She watches the Adam’s apple of her throat bob as she swallows back the instinct to run.

"Is - is that Mifune?" she asks instead. "Is he..."

"Not dead," comes a voice from behind them, and both of them whirl to face Mosquito, who stands in the doorway, arms crossed. "But it is still a possibility."

Maka raises her gun and points it at Mosquito, who merely raises an eyebrow - then swings it at Angela, ignoring her faked gasp. "Let 'im go," she demands, trying to imitate her drawl. "I brought'cha Soul, now let 'im go."

"Maka?!" Angela takes a step backwards. "What are you -"

Mosquito nods to himself. "I suppose you have, at that." He strolls into the room, looking 'Soul' up and down. "What a fantastic specimen," he murmurs. "Perhaps Medusa was on to something after all. It's no small feat to hold me in thrall." His hand snakes out, grabbing Soul's chin and bringing him down to eye-level. "What a delicious aura you gave off," he continues, turning his face from side to side, easily squashing any struggles against his grip with a warning squeeze to the jawbone. "Why not try again, Soul? Let me feed upon the madness you exude, succulent and oh so sweet..."

"Let me _go_ -"

"No?" He tilts his head. "A shame. It may have saved you from torture at the hands of my lady. No matter though." He releases Angela's jaw, but pauses. "Though...I've always wondered..." and there's something hypnotic about the way he slowly runs his hand down Soul's tanned skin, something that has Maka unable to do more than stare, "how a human might taste with the blood of a demon running through them..."

Quicker than Maka can shoot, he unhinges his jaw and sinks his teeth into the meat of Soul's bicep. Angela shrieks in pain, and Mosquito quickly releases her. Blood wells from between her fingers as she clutches at her arm, baring her teeth at him.

Mosquito's mouth works as he rolls the blood around in his mouth with the expertise of a sommelier, then he sighs. "The dull, dirt taste of shapeshifter," he says, shaking his head as he dabs at his lips with a handkerchief, bright red staining the pristine white cloth. "I suppose I should have expected as much."

"Angela, get behind -" Maka begins to say, but Mosquito snaps his fingers, and she finds herself toppling to the floor, hand still clutching the gun, and hears Angela thump down next to her.

"That's all right though," he says, almost cheerfully. "It's been a long time since I've had fresh, young souls such as yours." His form seems to expand, nose elongating to a point, and his eyes burn a milky red as his skin sags. "A strong soul like Mifune's will sustain me for weeks - and the small fierce ones you possess will be delectable appetizers." The yawning pit of his mouth begins to glow as he says, "They'll have to drain the lake to find your bodies - but who would? A stray hunter, a shapeshifter, a mercenary - who would ever come looking for _you_?"

Something lodges in Maka's throat, and she tries desperately to swallow it down, but bright yellow light threads its way through her lips, coalescing above her -

 _Bang!_ and she hears the shtriga hiss as it recoils. The light disappears, and Maka coughs, feeling her soul settle back into her body.

"Did we get him?" Black*Star asks, tentatively poking his head in, gun raised.

She tries to respond, but her mouth is slow to form words, and she's unable to warn him before Mosquito pounces.

Blue springs up to protect him, and the shtriga hits Tsubaki's shield, falling to the ground. Before he can get up, he's attacked by another lash of power, and Tsubaki strides in, hands raised and muttering spells as she tries to keep him down.

Black*Star wastes no time in darting over to them, hoisting Mifune up and tossing his arm around his shoulder. Angela's already struggling to her feet, and Maka can feel her limbs beginning to respond as she attempts to sit up.

A flare of fire goes wild, singing her hair, and she ducks as an icicle flies past, impaling into the wall and making the shack shudder. Tsubaki barely dodges the bolt of electricity that Mosquito throws at her, and cries aloud as he follows it up with a whistling slice of air that scores a razor thin slash across her cheek.

"Did I not tell you, little witch?" Mosquito croons, and Tsubaki backs up, face glistening with sweat and chest heaving with exertion. "You're nothing compared to me -"

Plants explode from beneath his feet, twisting around his legs, thorns digging into his skin. He curses, pulls at the vines, and Tsubaki shouts, "Get them out of here!"

Black*Star yanks Maka up, pushing her towards the door, and Tsubaki rushes to help him with Mifune, taking the other side of the still-unconscious man. They start to limp outside, Maka doing her best to coordinate her movements into a semblance of running while keeping her grip on her weapon, Angela trailing behind.

They almost make it out of the shack, when Mosquito's voice sounds from behind them - " _Not so fast_ " - and there's a horrible rumbling sound to their right - Maka cranes her head around to see a tsunami arising from the lake -

" _NO!_ " Angela shouts, and launches herself at Mosquito. The wave crashes down onto the shed, and the wood shrieks and moans as it collapses. Huge walls of water slam into them, and Maka's feet are swept away by the current, falling face-first into muck.

"Maka!" she hears Tsubaki cry, and she gargles, sitting up in the knee-high water and wiping mud away from her face with her free hand. "Maka, where -"

"Keep going!" she splutters. "Get Mifune to safety!" The ground sucks at her feet as she struggles upwards, the receding water threatening to unbalance her, and she's forced to nearly crawl towards the remains of the shack, still gripping the gun. Jagged splinters of wood litter the ground, flung in every direction, but there's no sign of the shapeshifter or the shtriga.

"Angela!" she cries. "Angela, where -!"

"Maka!" comes a call from the shore, and she nearly trips trying to run towards it. A wracking cough, and another cry of her name, and she can make out a splayed-out figure on the shore.

Bleary red eyes watch her as Maka reaches her, sticking the gun in her waistband and bending to help her up. Angela slumps against her, shoulders shuddering as she hacks up more water, and she rasps, "We have to - have to get back - to Soul -"

"We need to get the shtriga first," Maka says, hauling her back towards the path. "I bet Mosquito needs to feed, soon, now would be the best time -"

Wet hair brushes against her neck as Angela shakes her head. "He's going after him - need to get there first - "

"Fuck." She readjusts Angela's arm around her neck, and starts urging them faster. "All right, we'll get back to the jeep - should get to the hotel in twenty minutes, hopefully that'll be enough time..."

They reach the trail, and Maka spots Black*Star's fading blue hair through the bushes. "Black*Star!" she yells as he rounds the bend and stops. "He got away! We need to get back to..."

Black*Star stares at her, not moving. "What?" she asks, but his expression doesn't waver, eyes intently focused on them. "Come help me -"

His face contorts into a snarl, and Maka drops Angela's arm, taking an unconscious step back as he leaps towards them, claws outstretched and fangs bared. She cowers away from hot breath, sharp teeth, inhuman eyes - old pain flares between her shoulder blades and up her arm -

Angela whimpers as Black*Star sinks his claws into her stomach and rips. Blood splatters onto Maka's face, and the gun is in her hands, aimed straight at Black*Star, and he looks at her with wide, dilated eyes as she pulls the trigger.

He takes a wobbly step back, hand clutching his chest, before crumpling to the ground.

Maka drops the gun, hands coming up to cover her mouth as she stares at his too-still body. "Star," she whispers. "Star -"

Beside her, Angela begins to laugh. "My, you hunters are far more fun than you used to be," she says in a deep, oily voice. Her appearance shimmers, and Mosquito's long nose and malicious eyes grin at her as the illusion falls away. "Surprise."

"You -" Maka stutters, stumbling backwards. "You -"

"Are not who you thought I was? Changing your appearance is child's play, my dear." He taps a finger to his chin. "Though it _is_ merely an illusion, unlike shapeshifters. I suppose my lack of Soul's scent is what tipped off your werewolf friend here." He kicks at Black*Star's body, with no reaction. "Ah, well, no matter now. A hotel twenty minutes away, you say? Perhaps the Best Western?” He reads the confirmation in her terrified features. “Splendid."

Her heel catches on a stray root and she lands on her butt, desperately trying to scrabble away from him. "You were correct on one account, however," and she can do nothing but watch as Mosquito looms over her, as she feels an indescribable pulling in her very core, "I am _very_ hungry..."

The world begins to go dim around the edges, and ice seeps into her body, numbing her senses. Mosquito's eyes flare with desire and cruel glee, and she's drawn to the dark cavernous void of his mouth, where the filaments of her soul are slowly but surely being sucked in -

_BANG!_

Mosquito whirls around, and -

_BANG!_

He topples to the ground, and Maka gasps as her soul retreats back into her body. Above them, Black*Star continues to unload more and more bullets into the shtriga's corpse.

The magazine runs out, and Black*Star tosses the gun aside, giving Mosquito's body a ferocious kick. "Fucking bastard," he mutters.

"Took you…long enough," Maka wheezes as she struggles to stand. "Were you gonna wait until he actually sucked out my soul to kill him?"

"Didn't want to miss this time," Black*Star replies, and she takes his hand gratefully, before pulling him into a hug. He smells like blood and sweat, and he's covered in mud, but she clings to him, squeezing her eyes shut and feeling him stiffen before hesitantly returning her embrace.

"...sorry, _sorry_ , I trusted you, I swear," she finds herself babbling into his shirt, "knew the bullet wouldn't kill you, it was iron not silver, never would have pretended if it was silver, I just didn't want him to get away -"

"Maka, stop," he says, giving her pigtail a firm tug. "I got it, okay? Maka Albarn doesn't miss a shot, especially not at point blank range - knew what you wanted me to do as soon as I realized you hit my shoulder, not my heart."

"G-good," she sniffs.

He pats her back awkwardly, and takes a quick step back when she lets go. She wipes her nose on her sleeve before giving him a punch. "C-come on," she says. "Let's go find Angela and get back to the others."

* * *

They hear Angela before they find her, hollering out their names from the part of the forest she was swept away to. Shed bits of skin help them locate her, and small arms throw themselves around Maka as soon as she comes into view.

"Did you get him?" she asks as Black*Star drapes his mostly-dry shirt over her. "Is Mifune okay?"

"Yes, and yes," Maka tells her, and Angela sighs in relief.

"How?" she asks, huddling into his shirt, and Black*Star regales her with a much less terrifying tale of their triumph as they trudge back to the vehicles.

Mifune's slumped in the front seat of the truck, eyes closed, but they flutter open as Angela gives a shout and sprints towards him. Pure joy and relief spreads across his face as he opens his arms to catch her as she jumps into his lap. He holds her tightly as she begins to fill him in on what happened while he was unconscious, supplying no more than the occasional 'hmm'. The expression on his face is one of utter love and gratitude, and next to her, Black*Star looks away.

"Thank you," he murmurs later, when she's driving them back to the hotel. Angela's asleep in his lap, refusing to be parted no matter how strictly they lectured her on safety laws. "For keeping her safe."

"She kept herself pretty safe," Maka says. "Knew where to go and what to do - and if she hadn't gotten to the shtriga when she did, we might all be dead and Mosquito still alive." She shakes her head. "Better keep an eye on her, she's a smart one."

"Too smart," Mifune replies, but there's a proud smile on his face as he strokes her hair. "Too stubborn and rebellious by half." He sighs. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

Angela snoozes, looking more than ever like the child she insists she isn't while she sleeps. "Still," he says, turning to look at her. "Thank you. You returned her to me when any other would have killed her. You showed patience and understanding when you could have easily showed her the back of your hand instead. And, as much as I dislike it, you respected her choice to participate in rescuing me." He turns his gaze back to his sleeping daughter, and says, quiet, "If only all hunters - if only _everyone_ was as accepting as you and your group, perhaps we may never have felt like we needed to join with Arachne in the first place."

"I'm..." Maka clears her throat. "I'm not as good at that as I'd like to be. I still - it's hard for me, still, to look at others and see only the person and not the danger." She rubs at her forearm, traces her fingers along thin scars. "Maybe...maybe it'll always be that way, no matter how much I try."

She shakes her head. "But I'm doing my best. To be better. To not my fears and anger take a hold of me - to not let them change my relationships to the people most important to me, to others who face the same judgement."

"That's all we need," Mifune says, settling back into the seat and closing his eyes. "That's all they need."

They pull into the hotel's parking lot, Black*Star's bright yellow truck following behind, and she can see Soul's face in the window to their room, searching. She waves as they get out of the car, and she can imagine him closing his eyes in relief, shoulders sagging as the nervous tension dissipates from them.

He opens the door for them as they arrive, and she sees the way his eyes flit from one face to another before they settle on her. His gaze doesn't waver as the others file into the room, and she's reminded, suddenly, of the look on Papa's face when he'd watch for Mama after she'd left them, lost and afraid.

"I'm fine," she tells him, squeezing his hands. "We're all fine. The shtriga's dead, we rescued Mifune, and we're all - it's all okay."

He nods wordlessly, but he doesn't look away, and his thumbs rub circles into her skin.

"Woo!" Black*Star cheers, kicking off his mud-encrusted shoes. "We kicked some _ass_ today everyone, I think it's time to celebrate! Beers're on me!"

"Not for you, Angela," Mifune says sternly, and she pouts as she tosses Black*Star's shirt back at him.

"I think we may all be need of a bath first," Tsubaki suggests. "Black*Star, you should go first in ours - oh, what happened to your chest?"

"Just a scratch," he replies. "Already healed over, no big deal." He looks closer at her, reaches up to touch her cheek. “Tch,” he says, looking at the blood on his fingertips. “Looks like you got sliced, Tsu.”

“No big deal,” she echoes, and he grins at her.

“I’ll patch you up,” he says, patting her shoulder. “I’m awesome at first aid, you know.”

"Angela can use our bathroom," Soul says, still holding onto Maka’s hands. "Mifune, you can borrow a pair of my clothes - Maka's should fit Angela."

They disperse, leaving wet clothing strewn across the floor. Tsubaki and Black*Star head to their room, Angela locks herself in the bathroom, and Mifune decides to wander downstairs in search of food for everyone.

Soul tugs Maka over to the armchair, waiting patiently as she strips the sodden leather jacket from her shoulders and wrings out her hair into a towel. "It really wasn't that bad, Soul," she says, twisting to check a sore spot on her back - it's already reddening, and she knows it'll be a ripe purple come tomorrow.

Cold fingers graze the area, and she winces, swatting his hand away. "Just a bruise, but nothing worse than that, promise," she says, sitting down in the chair, and Soul crouches in front of her, still staring.

She bends to unlace her boots, but Soul stops her by placing his hand on her knee. She looks up into his eyes, dark and intense, and feels her mouth go dry as he raises a hand to her face.

"I'm glad," he murmurs. "That you're okay."

"M-me too," she stammers.

His fingers caress her cheek, softly, tenderly, and just the weight of his gaze has her heart beating fast. He seems about to say something, thumb brushing ever so gently across her lips, his touch so faint and light she thinks for a moment she must be imagining it...

But something flits across his face, and she closes her eyes briefly in disappointment as he drops his hand from her cheek, letting it rest beside him. "I think Angela will be done with her shower soon," he says, looking away. "You should - you should get in next."

"Y-yeah," she whispers over the plunging of her heart. "I - yeah."

She hunches over her shoes, hiding her face as she fights back tears. Shaking fingers untie her laces, and she takes her time easing the boots off her feet, waits until the stinging in her eyes has abated before peeking at him.

Soul's still staring down at his hands with an expression that speaks of quiet suffering. He catches her eye and gives her a weak smile. "…So," he says, clearing his throat. "Where to next?"

She takes the topic change gratefully. "Back to Oklahoma, I think, after we drop Tsubaki off in Arizona."

"Stein have something new for us, or Spirit hear something?"

"No," she replies, and then, at his confused look, haltingly explains, "I - I wanted to see them again. What with everything that's been going on I thought…" Mifune's fierce grip on his daughter comes back to her, and the sadness in Papa’s voice echoes in her ears as she says, "I thought it might be nice. To see Papa, and Stein."

He nods slowly, giving her an expression bordering on pride. "I think that's a good idea. Family…" and she doesn't miss the way the corners of his mouth turn regretful. "Family is important," he finishes quietly.

She can see the loss in his eyes before he looks away, wrapping his arms around himself. "Spirit will be happy to see you," he says, and buried in his voice is the sound of quiet longing, of missed birthdays and holidays and the forgotten feeling of a parent's warm embrace -

 _He'll be able to live out the rest of his short life with his parents,_ Medusa whispers in her ear, _being happy in ways you'll never be able to make him…_

The spray of the water in the bathroom twists off, and Soul uncurls, standing up. She accepts the hand he offers her, and he lifts her to her feet. He doesn't let go of her hand, and she's close enough to him that she can feel his breath flutter against her face, see his throat bob as he swallows. If she just tilted her head back, just raised herself a little higher...

But this time it's the memory of Soul, smiling at the prospect of finally being able to go back to his parents with Wes all those months ago, that stops her - and this time, she's the one who steps away.

* * *

It's near noon when Mifune decides that it's time for them to leave. He helps a drowsy Angela with her shoes and returns the clothes they borrowed from Soul when Angela was pretending to be him, though they keep the ones they're currently wearing.

"I'll give you a lift back," Soul says, pulling on a jacket.

"Thank you. Angela, why don't you go wait down by the car?" He waits until the door's closed to turn back to them. "Thank you all again for your help -"

"Yeah yeah," Black*Star says, waving a hand. "You said it a million times already. It's fine, 's what we do."

Mifune nods. "Hopefully we'll never be in such a position again, but if we are - or if you are - you have my number."

"Thank you," Maka says. "What are you going to do now?"

"Lay low," he replies. "I don't want to draw any more attention to ourselves - I'm sure Arachne already knows about Mosquito's death, and I don't want to become the target for her revenge." He rubs at his chin. "But if they do come for us, it won't just be me they'll have to contend with. I've decided to begin showing Angela how to defend herself...and if that includes shifting, then so be it."

"Good," Black*Star says, crossing his arms. "Like I said, she's a tough kid. She'll pick it up quick."

"I'm sure." Mifune regards him with a careful eye. "You seem much the same way," he says frankly. "Stubborn, determined, fierce. I know many who thought Sid and Nygus were condemning themselves and the rest of the hunting community for training you." He tilts his head. "But I understand, now, why your parents cut themselves off from any who questioned their choice to take you in - you are a better hunter in skill and spirit than many could wish to be." A craggy smile spreads across his face. "I hope the same for Angela."

"...Me too," Black*Star says, and with a final goodbye, Mifune and Soul leave.

Black*Star scuffs at the carpet, and Maka nudges him. "Stop being a coward and call them," she commands. He scowls at the floor but reluctantly nods and accepts the phone she shoves at him, fingers picking out a number they both know by heart.

He’s halfway out of the room when she hears him say, “Hi Sid. Nygus.” A pause, and then, just as the door is closing, she hears him say, softly, "...Mom. Dad."

She looks at her own phone on the bed beside her, and then she, too, is punching numbers into it and listening to the ringing.

"Maka? Darling, are you okay? Did the shtriga -"

"I'm fine, Papa," she says. "Don't worry. I just wanted to let you know that I - I'm fine."

Relief floods his voice as he sighs, “Thank you, sweetheart. It means a lot, that you called to tell me.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me –“

“I do.” She swallows. “I do. But I – I want to tell it to you, in person. If…if that’s okay.”

“I’ve already forgiven you, Maka,” and his absolute sincerity makes her vision blur with tears. “And I will always forgive you, for whatever you feel the need to be sorry for. But if you want to come back, you know that I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Y-you’ve always been good at that –“ she sniffs, rubbing at her eyes. “W-waiting for me, for – for Mama –“

“Too good,” he says sadly. “Too good at waiting when I should have been acting. But,” he sighs, “we can talk about that you get here. Now, what would you like me to make you and Soul as a welcome home meal?”

* * *

She finds Black*Star later, lying on the bench seat in the back of his truck, arm flung across his face. The door is unlocked, and she crawls into the passenger seat, propping her chin on the headrest. "Hey."

"Hey," comes his muffled reply.

"What did they say?" she asks, settling back on her knees.

He gives a half shrug.

"Don't give me that. What did they say?"

"...They said..." He pulls his arm away and she realizes he's been _crying_ , something she's only seen once or twice before, and her hands curl into fists automatically before she realizes he's smiling too. It's shy and a little wobbly, but a grin all the same, one far closer to his usual bright beam than she's seen in a while. "They said that they, uh, loved me," he says, hoarse. "That they would've never - never...that they'd always be there for me, no matter what. And that they were sorry that...t-that they ever made me f-feel otherwise."

She waits for his sniffles to quiet before saying, smug, "So exactly what I told you they'd say," and he gives a halfhearted kick in her direction.

"Yeah, I guess," he replies, wiping at his nose. Bright seafoam green eyes look solemnly into hers, and he says, sincere, "Thank you, Maka."

"Anytime, Black*Star," she says. "You know that."

He sighs, and another grin curls around his face as he looks up at the ceiling. "Yeah," he says with his old confidence. "I know."

* * *

"So where are you off to now?" Soul asks as he watches Black*Star tear through the hotel room, pawing through drawers and moving furniture to check for straggling possessions.

He pulls up the bedskirt, fishing around beneath the frame before coming away with a dumbbell. "Mosquito's dead, but he still left a lot of new skinwalkers behind," he says, tossing it into his bag. "I _was_ gonna go up thataway, help 'em out, but..." He shrugs. "Guess they couldn't handle someone like me showing them up."

"They said they had it covered?"

"Had it covered...didn't want me there...whichever one. If you're itching for work, though, you could call 'em. Might have better luck."

Black*Star busies himself with rearranging things with his bag, and Soul's eyes are drawn to his hair, at the way the blue has faded into a more normal looking light brown. By the time he reached the other hunters, there'd be nothing to suggest to any outsider that he wasn't just a normal guy - a little more buff and a lot louder than the average man, but still _normal_ on the outside.

Pain pricks his finger, and he draws it away from the teeth he'd been unconsciously rubbing at. "I think we're okay," he says, looking down at the drops of black blood oozing from his cut. "Maka was thinking about heading back out to the southwest anyway. Need to drop off Tsubaki, and then going back to Oklahoma for a few days, see Spirit."

"I'm going back home too," Black*Star says. "It's uh, been a while, since I've seen my parents. And there're worse places to spend the winter than Tennessee."

"Sounds like a plan," Soul replies, and Tsubaki chooses that moment to return to the room.

"Oh," she says, smiling at Black*Star. "I'm glad I caught you before you left."

"Wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," Black*Star reassures her. "Just packing up now."

"Are your bags all ready to go, Tsubaki?" Soul asks. "Check-out is at noon, Maka wanted to be on the road in an hour if possible." He rolls his eyes. "Thank god breakfast ends in fifteen minutes, otherwise we'd be here for longer, I'm sure."

"Oh, she must have forgotten to tell you - I'm not going back with you."

He blinks. "You're not?"

She shakes her head. "I...I decided that it would be better if I didn't return to Arizona for a bit.” Her eyes flicker to Black*Star as she says, “Kim and Jackie and Eruka - they need to learn how to cope on their own for a while, and integrate themselves more into Mabaa's coven. _And_ ," she says to Black*Star's frown, "I thought that I needed some time away too. A vacation, of sorts. It's been a busy couple of months."

"Hell _yes_ ," Black*Star exclaims. "See, Tsu's got the right idea. Where're you gonna go?"

"I thought I'd start off in Portland," she replies. "I know of a coven there, powerful nature witches - perhaps I could learn something from them, while I relax."

"Portland's great! Only been there a couple of times myself, but it's not that far - I can drop you off if you want."

"That would be wonderful, thank you," she says, and he puffs up at her words.

She turns to Soul, smile playing over her mouth, and says, gravely, "I'm sorry, but you and Maka are _not_ invited. It will be a hunter-free vacation because, as I've learned very quickly, involving you two only invites near-death experiences."

Soul returns her grin. "Not a problem, though I won't lie, I could use one myself."

"Maybe you should take a cruise," she suggests, then, slyly, "Or one of those romantic getaway packages..."

"Haha, yes!" Black*Star cheers. "Maybe you can finally make a move on Maks, watching you two dance around each other is awkward as _fuck_ -"

"It is very much," Tsubaki agrees gravely, "as awkward as fuck," and looks fairly pleased with herself as Black*Star cracks up.

"Shut up, both of you," Soul grumbles, looking away. His fingers tingle with remembrance of the way her lips felt beneath them, and he can't help but think of her eyes, trepidation and determination staring back at him...

 _But for how long?_ comes her voice, small and vulnerable, and he shakes his head.

"Well, I'm going to get my things loaded up in the truck," Black*Star says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "You coming, Tsu?"

She hesitates, smile slipping from her face. "Of course, I just have a few more things to pack. I won't be more than a few minutes."

"Meet you downstairs then!"

It's only when the sound of Black*Star's heavy steps have faded away that Tsubaki turns back to him, looking serious. "Soul," she says. "There's something I need to give you."

"Uh?"

She walks over to her neatly piled luggage, opens her purse and takes out a sheaf of paper. "While Maka and Black*Star were looking for Angela, I took the opportunity to go through Mosquito's car. And I found this."

She hands it to him, and he looks down at a symbol drawn in charcoal - one that looks somewhat similar to, but not entirely like that which they'd discovered on the body of the man from Indiana, all those months ago.

"What is it?" he asks, holding it up and taking a closer look. There's something almost sinister about the way the curves angle towards each other and away, something that causes the back of his neck to prickle. Oni cackles from behind the firmly shut door in his mind.

"It's Arachne's sigil," Tsubaki responds. "A personal calling card, of sort. With the right ritual, you can summon her, and she'll be forced to come."

"You're saying," Soul begins, slowly, "that I can use this...and Arachne will appear? No matter where she is, or where I am?"

"That's correct." She fiddles with her hair. "Though, I do have to tell you, it's not exact - she does get to choose the exact spot she manifests, so it may be difficult to trap her, if you choose to do so."

"...Thank you," he says, still staring at the paper. "I...I need..." Many sentences run through his head, rising and dying on his lips as he struggles to sort through the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him: excitement, hope, dread, fear...

A cool hand touches his own, and he looks up into Tsubaki's eyes, deep with sorrow and understanding. "Good luck," she says softly. "My hopes are with you. Truly."

* * *

He's still staring at it an hour later, after Tsubaki and Black*Star have driven away. Even when he closes his eyes, he can see it, stamped into his mind -

"Soul? Soul, it's time to go," Maka calls. He doesn't respond, and he hears her sigh before walking towards him. "Come on, we need to check out - what is that?"

"It's." He swallows. "It's Arachne's sigil."

"Sigil?" she asks, trying to tug the paper from his hands; he lets go, reluctantly.

"Tsubaki said...she said we could use it. To summon Arachne."

She blinks. "Wait. Really?" She waves the paper around. "We could use this to trap her?"

" _Maybe_ ," he stresses. "Tsubaki said she'd be able to choose where to appear - that she might not -"

"So we'd just do it in a place where we could cover every inch in devil traps, or just make one giant one - Soul, this is perfect, we can exorcise her -"

"No," he says, cutting her off. "No."

She stares at him, brows furrowed in confusion. "...Why? Isn't this what we've been looking for? A way to get Wes back?"

"It's -" he starts, then stops, mouth working, before trying again. "It's not just about Wes, anymore," and Tsubaki's broken expression comes back to him. "It's like you said. Before. We have no way of killing her - of making it permanent - if we exorcise her, she'll just drag herself back out of hell and come back after us and Wes and - and -" He closes his eyes, remembering the look of hunger in Black*Star's eyes as he crouched over Mifune, the terror in Angela's voice as she relayed Mosquito's plan, all in the name of Arachne. "It'll never stop," he whispers. "None of it will ever stop, until we can find a way to kill her permanently."

Maka looks down at the symbol. "...Yeah. All right." She gives a nod. "Okay. We don't use it now, and we keep looking for a way to get rid of her for good. _But_ if we don't find anything by June..." She falters, before clearing her throat and giving him a weak smile. "If by that time we still don't know how to kill her, I say to hell with it. We get your brother back, no matter what happens."

He rolls her eyes at her pun, but feels his posture relax, and she lays a brief hand on his shoulder before going to tuck the paper into her journal. "So are you ready to leave?" she asks him as she bends over her bag. "Now that we're not dropping Tsubaki off, it should only take us -"

He doesn't hear the rest of her sentence as he's slammed against the wall. A vice-like grip clutches his throat, squeezing and pinning him. Choking and gasping, he claws at the hand, Maka's panicked cry fading from hearing as he struggles for breath.

His eyes roll down to his attacker, and eyes like twin, burning suns bore into him, utterly without mercy. The tendrils of nothingness writhe savagely, a ravenous frenzy of not-light, straining towards his face.

"Soul Evans," the reaper hisses. Soul desperately lashes out with his feet, but he doesn't even blink, just lifts him higher. "Abomination. You have condemned another soul to madness."

Oni hisses from behind the door, and Soul's lips form denials that he can find no breath to give life to. The edges of his vision begin to dim, and a crazed thought runs through his head - what if the reaper is _right_ somehow, what if he finally snapped - if Oni had somehow taken him over -

"You should not have disregarded my warning," the reaper says, sounding almost regretful. Light glints off of the blade he slowly draws from his cloak, the triple edges shining like starlight. Soul's skin burns as it caresses his cheek, his blood staining the blade pitch black.

"For your transgressions against the natural order," the reaper intones, "I sentence you to death."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has read this far, thank you from the bottom of my heart - it means more than I can say that you've stuck with this absurdly long story. I hope that you'll continue to read when I eventually post Act Three, which will involve far more Kid, as well as resolve more conflicts, both physical and emotional.
> 
> Comments and criticism are, as always, sought after. I am always looking to improve and would welcome anything you may have to suggest to help make the last act the best it can be. You can also find me @jaded-envy on tumblr; I'm always up for talking and answering questions if you have any!
> 
> Once again I would highly encourage you to rain the love my artists deserve onto them, and check out the other resbangs this year, as there were so many amazing ones! 
> 
> Thank you so much!


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